


Carmen Relinquo (Act 1)

by ecastle_vania



Series: The Story Told [1]
Category: Castlevania Lords of Shadow と 宿命の魔鏡 | Castlevania: Lords of Shadow & Mirror of Fate, 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Human/Monster Romance, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Inner Dialogue, Multi, Non-Canon Relationship, POV Multiple, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Slow Burn, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:21:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 80,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26398588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecastle_vania/pseuds/ecastle_vania
Summary: The mirror that was truth had been shattered into a million pieces and then reconstructed into a new frame. Some pieces were thrown out entirely, some pieces reconfigured into a new space, some trimmed down and some left just the way they were.Laura knew the story. Everyone did, whether they were part of the Dark Kingdoms or humanity. Everyone knew him, though most didn’t know his true name. The version that had been fed to the world was breathtakingly ambitious and there was no way to refute it. All the records had been destroyed, all the witnesses murdered or gone, all traces removed. She had no way to challenge the lie, no proof she could give. Everything she had gone through, everything they’d meant to each other had been erased.It was the final punishment, the last betrayal. She was the only one left who knew  that she was not a vampiric child who tricked Gabriel Belmont at the gates of the Forgotten One. She was the only one who knew his mission was never about Marie and never about the Lords of Shadow.It was about her.
Relationships: Gabriel Belmont | Dracula/Marie Belmont, Gabriel Belmont | Dracula/Original Female Character(s), Gabriel Belmont | Dracula/Other(s)
Series: The Story Told [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918615
Comments: 104
Kudos: 7





	1. All the Fiends on The Block

**Author's Note:**

> The Story Told  
> Act 1: Carmen Relinquo*  
> (* ‘I leave a song,’ or ‘leaving song.’)
> 
> Send a heartbeat to  
> The void that cries through you  
> Relive the pictures that have come to pass  
> For now we stand alone  
> The world is lost and blown  
> And we are flesh and blood disintegrate  
> With no more to hate  
> Is it bright where you are?  
> Have the people changed?  
> Does it make you happy you're so strange?  
> And in your darkest hour  
> I hold secrets flame  
> We can watch the world devoured in its pain  
> Delivered from the blast  
> The last of a line of lasts  
> The pale princess of a palace cracked  
> And now the kingdom comes  
> Crashing down undone  
> And I am a master of a nothing place  
> Of recoil and grace  
> Time has stopped before us  
> The sky cannot ignore us  
> No one can separate us  
> For we are all that is left  
> The echo bounces off me  
> The shadow lost beside me  
> There's no more need to pretend  
> Now I can begin again  
> -“The Beginning is the End Is the Beginning,” The Smashing Pumpkins

It was close to midnight when the boy was sighted. He was approaching the gate to the fortress of the Brotherhood of Light. Keep of those sworn to battle the creatures of the night for the glory of God, the building seemed to glow with its holy purpose. Perched on the landscape like a bird of prey, its broad walls were bathed in milky light from the waning full moon.

Silver banners with embroidered gold crosses snapped in the breeze and the front gate was carved in an elaborate combat cross. The symbol of their order, it was only carried by their elite warriors. Wielded by God’s chosen one, it was the ultimate weapon to defeat the foulest evil. An elaborate creation of chain, stake and sword, few outside of the Brotherhood ever saw one, unless it was heralding their death.

The knight on watch saw the boy coming the moment the slender shadow melted out of the treeline. The watch called down to the gatehouse for them to go out to greet the youth. 

Simon, the knight in the gatehouse, was still sore from an over-enthusiastic sparring match earlier that day. He wasn’t moving for less than a full-scale invasion of summoned Reapers. Reapers were physical manifestations of Death, summoned and controlled by a Necromancer and some slip of a boy ain’t no necromancer. 

He threw his mail glove across the room at his sleeping compatriot. The glove caught Paul square in the face and left a stinging welt across his mouth. He woke with a start, cursing Simon’s parentage as the result of an impossible copulation between a weasel and a goat.

Disgruntled and groggy, Paul approached the gate and beckoned the boy over to the side door. Throwing it open, he stuck his head out, “The fuck _you_ want?”

“Captain Peter?” the small, waifish boy asked. He was perhaps 16 years old and drowning in a tunic and hose far too large for him. He’d shuffled back two paces in the face of the gruff greeting.

“God’s thumbs boy! Not on your life.” Paul guffawed, “Commander Peter is an important man and currently asleep, because it’s the middle of the bloody night.” His words weren’t especially unkind but his tone was pissed enough that the boy shrank back.

The boy seemed to ponder this for a moment and finally drew himself up. “I carry a message for him and only him. I was instructed to deliver it to him directly. I can’t do otherwise.”

Paul rolled his eyes, “That’s what they all say. Who is the message from?”

“Lady Laura,” the boy told him. Paul straightened so fast he wedged himself in the door, thanks to the jutting fins protruding from his pauldrons.

“Fuck, damn it! Stuck like the cock of a cur in a bit—” His mad wriggling had shaken him lose. The boy was openly gaping at him, one eye twitching before he snapped his jaw shut and firmed his mouth. With a deep breath Paul tried to gather the tattered pieces of his dignity back around him.

“Wait here please” Paul told the boy and hastily shut the door. The door was not thick enough to conceal the sound of laughter.

That was just _perfect,_ Paul thought.

\---

In no short order, Peter had been wakened and the boy had been ushered into his home. His personal steward, Martha, had prepared a tray of cold meat and buns and laid out some wine in Peter’s study. 

But when Martha opened the door to a skinny 16-year-old lad streaked with dirt and shivering, two things happened. First, Martha insisted he wash his hands and face before eating her food. A bowl of warm water, cake of cedar-scented soap and a square of linen was produced. Second, Martha added some meat pies and hot mulled wine to the repast in the study.

When the boy cheerfully washed up without complaint and thanked her respectfully, Martha offered him a radiant smile. She ushered him into the cozy room, comfortable and spartan, where Peter already was waiting before a newly stoked fire. 

On her way out, Martha told the boy that she would have a small sack of food for his return journey. He just needed to visit the kitchen before he left. The boy flashed a grin to the short, round woman and offered her a small, shockingly graceful bow. With a gentle smile lighting the laugh lines carved into her cheeks, Martha closed the door.

Peter rose from his seat and bowed deeply to the boy. “Lady Laura, a genuine pleasure.” He said, looking up in time to see her shape-sifting transformation. It never failed to astonish him.

In a swirl of purple mist and silently screeching bats, a tall, gracefully muscular woman with absurdly generous curves and a brilliantly white braid stood in the place of the waifish boy. The clothes were still loose but they no longer hung off her frame.

Her unnaturally pale face was dominated by large green eyes that sparkled with mirth. Her pale face crinkled into a grin, from which two long incisors gleamed in the firelight. He knew this face like his own, for she was his dear friend.

“Peter! By the Gods it has been too long! Suffer well!” She presented him with another gracious little bow before winking at him and offering a friendly embrace. He looked up at her and smiled.

She always smelled of fresh herbs and looked exactly the same. He found his heart ached a little; he certainly did not look the same. It had been almost seven years since he’d seen her. He knew that for her, it was like it was yesterday.

They settled into the chairs by the fire. Peter helped himself to a slice of herbed bread and leaned back. “I was hoping it might actually be you, when I was awakened. Your real messengers would never come in the dead of night.”

“Yes, I apologize for that, but as you know, it’s entirely necessary. I am grateful however, that you’ve continued to instruct all the knights that any message from me shall come to you immediately.” She made a face. “I debated just misting in, but considering I am surrounded by monster hunters I decided on the clandestine approach.” Her eyes sparkled, “It was worth it. The knight who let me in _was_ incredibly entertaining.”

She poured a mug of hot, fragrant, mulled wine and cupped it in her hands. “In that regard, I’m hoping you might have a safe space for me to spend the day tomorrow. I will need to be here at least that long.”

Peter was surprised by her request. She rarely stayed with the Brotherhood. Delight flushed through him at the prospect of a proper visit. “Of course my Lady, there are a couple of rooms in the center of the house that have no access to sunlight,” he replied.

“Excellent, I appreciate your hospitality," she tapped the mug, "I don’t recognize your steward though, has she been with you long?”

Peter knew what she was asking. “Martha has been with me for decades. Although she doesn’t know about you, she is a wise woman. She trusts me and I know I can explain you to her.”

“I bow to your wisdom in this matter and I am happy to hear it. Martha? You said that was her name? Martha was utterly lovely to me, especially considering it was the middle of the night. She looks and smells lovely.” She let out a little sigh and rubbed her hands on her mug. 

She continued, “Again, I apologize for waking you, and now, for keeping you awake. I have urgent news that requires immediate action. Before we continue however, I would ask if this room has been privacy spelled? We cannot risk anyone overhearing—human or supernatural.”

Peter paused in the act of cutting a cheese wedge and looked at Laura. “Yes, I witnessed the renewal spell only last month.”

“Marvelous. I need your best knight to accompany me to a vampire summit.” Laura paused to inhale the steam from her mulled wine and murmured appreciatively. “This came from my vineyard.” She looked up at him with one white brow cocked, despite the fact that her tone suggested it was not a question.

He stood and poured his own goblet. Turning back to her, he spoke playfully, “I confess that I keep my own personal reserve well stocked with your wines. I promise my actual indulgence in them is limited though! I know that the coin you command for them is of more use to the Brotherhood than keeping my palate happy.”

Laura waved a hand at that, “You are one of the few I am fortunate to call friend. I would gift them to you. There is plenty from my coffers to fund the Brotherhood. If I had known you enjoyed it so, I would have sent the whole barracks an acre of casks.”

Peter murmured his thanks, knowing that would now be exactly what she would do. He regretted his flippancy and tried not to feel as though he’d taken advantage of their friendship however inadvertently. She already sent supplies and coin to the barracks monthly. 

The whole knighthood ate better, drank better and smelled better because of Laura. And that was just what she made with her own hands. The coin she sent was a whole other matter. He’d always been careful to never take advantage of their friendship, he already felt she did more than enough for the Brotherhood.

Laura sniffed the wine again and sighed, “But I digress. As I said, I will need the assistance of your best knight. To make matters more difficult, I need someone intelligent, preferably educated, with great integrity but an open mind. He will need to be discreet and slow to anger.” She paused to take another sniff of wine.

“Oh, is that all?” Peter asked drily.

Laura offered him a tight, grim smile. “I am afraid I have saved the best for last. I will have to disclose my true origins to him and likely some…personal history. Because of the great risk to myself, I need a knight that can keep my confidence in perpetuity.”

Intrigued, Peter leaned forward and looked Laura in the eye. “What are we planning Laura?”

“To thwart Carmilla’s plans for a supernatural war.” Laura stated flatly.

Peter sucked in his breath, “You intend to move against the Queen of Vampires? Will she know it was you?”

“She will only if our plan fails. She is making her move for more power and it will be her downfall.” She looked at the fire. “Carmilla has summoned all the vampires of nobility together for a gathering at her castle after the new moon. _All_ of the vampires. To my knowledge, this is only the second time she has done this. The first time was when she established the guidelines of her sovereignty. There can be no mistake that this is a momentous occasion.”

Laura shifted slightly, “I was prepared to attend as required, but then I was alerted to her true intentions not four nights ago. She intends to rise against Cornell and enslave wolfkind. She will need the support of the entire Blood Kingdom if she is to be successful.”

Despite himself Peter was shocked. Carmilla was bold, vicious and ambitious but this had far-reaching implications even for her. He shook his head, “No, that can’t be. Whomever told you this is wrong.”

Laura’s eyes were on his face. “Cornell himself came to my home.”

Peter jerked in surprise. “Impossible. The Man-Beast _never_ leaves Agharta’s ruins. It’s his kingdom and the Lycan home. Even Carmilla has to visit him when they meet for the treaties.”

Laura offered him a wry smile, “As I am more than aware. Peter, it was him.”

“How can you be so sure?” he insisted, “It could have been a trick from the Master.”

Laura’s smile dropped and her face settled into predatory lines, “He knew something that only Cornell would know. No one else could know. _No one._ ”

“Not even the Master?” Peter hated to ask, but he needed to know.

“Especially the Master,” Laura answered, green eyes flashing.

Peter felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise and knew he was pushing her boundaries, but they must be sure. “Have you considered that this is all a ruse as a means to draw you back?”

Agitated, Laura’s lips twisted in an unhappy line. “Let’s not exaggerate my importance too much, Peter. The Master knows where I live and could summon me or visit anytime. It hasn’t happened. Because I am nothing and always have been.”

“Are you so sure of that, that you would risk everything? Risk it starting all over again?” They both looked down at the sound of a harsh rasp. Her black fingernails had extended into wicked talons. The sound had been the furrows she’d dug into the chair arm she’d clutched. They both stared at the shallow grooves that ran across the wood like bloody welts flogged into flesh.

Laura spoke first, a deep flush on her cheeks and throat, “I beg your pardon Peter, that was not intentional.” Her voice was quiet with shame.

“You do not have to apologize to me. I know that the topic is not a happy one for you. Let us just leave it for now.” Peter said gently, reaching out to touch her knee in a quick squeeze.

“You have it in a nutshell now anyway.” Laura retracted her claws, gently prying them out of the wood.

She cupped both hands over the marks. There was a slight hum and a teal flash that smelled faintly like eucalyptus. When her hands fell away, the wood gleamed. Laura leaned back and absently rolled her neck. “I will elaborate more tomorrow, but would like to do so with the knight who will accompany me. Based on what I have told you, do you have someone in mind?”

“I do, but I would like to speak with him, and message Zobek for an alternate, if my choice doesn’t agree to accompany you. There would be no purpose introducing you and risking you, if he doesn’t.”

“Understandable,” Laura said neutrally. “However, given that I will not have the chance to meet him and make my own judgement, I would like to know why are you choosing him.”

Peter thought for a moment before answering. _There was so much he could say, but what would matter most to Laura?_ “He is a talented warrior. You cannot ask for a better companion to head into a vampire lair. I can honestly say I have never seen his equal at the whip and combat cross, although he excels in all weapons.”

Peter took a swallow of wine before continuing, ”His education is astounding. He absorbs knowledge, makes connections and leaps in logic that are dumbfounding. As you might imagine, he is an avid reader. I am not even sure all the languages he can read and speak. He is tenacious to a fault; a force of nature when in pursuit.” 

Laura leaned forward, watching him as he continued, “He is a devoted believer but not a blind follower, indeed his questions about _why_ never cease. As a naturally curious man, he constantly seeks answers, but is wise enough to know that truth has many layers. Unfortunately, the answers he seeks are not always ones that would make a person happy. He has… an uncommon view of the world. Because of it, he tends towards melancholy.”

”Last but not least, his ability to keep confidences is unparalleled to anyone else I have ever known.” Laura cocked a brow at that, eliciting a grin from Peter. “It is true! He is incredibly honorable without being rigid.” He smiled.

“But?” Laura asked, toying with the end of her thick white braid.

Peter arched a brow back, “But what?”

Laura tossed her braid aside and leaned toward him, “Come now Peter, there is always a ‘but,’ why else would you want to speak with him _first and alone_?”

Peter hesitated. “In a few moons, it will be two summers since he suffered a great personal tragedy. It resulted in the death of his wife and left his faith deeply shaken. He may not be ready for a mission of this magnitude.”

“I see.” She looked into the fire for a long moment, and finally sighed. “I cannot fault anyone the journey back from such a loss. As you do not give such praise lightly, and he sounds like an ideal candidate, let us hope that he is ready. What is his name?”

“Gabriel Belmont.” Peter looked at her, firelight flickering over her soft features. “I have known him since he was a babe. The Brotherhood raised him.”

“Gabriel Belmont,” Laura murmured as she set down her goblet, “Have I met him before?”

“I don’t believe so my Lady, but it is always possible. He has been with us almost 30 years,” Peter smiled. “I was a boy when he arrived.”

"Thirty years? How old is he?” Laura looked taken aback.

“About thirty years.” Peter said wryly, “They grow up fast.”

“He’s been in the care of the Brotherhood since he was a babe? Was he orphaned? Abandoned?” she gave him a quizzical look.

“That would be for you to ask him, my Lady.” Peter said gently, “As his friend and yours, you can understand how I would feel conflicted imparting any personal history about either of you, to the other.”

Laura nodded, seemingly content with his reasoning. Peter hadn’t missed the tiny tremble in the vampire’s hand when she put the goblet down. Who knows how long she’d had to hold the form of the boy, or how far she’d travelled tonight? 

He stood and held out his arm. “You are tired. Let me show you to your room and have a word with Martha. Don’t bother to shift again; just pull your hood up.”

She stood and started pulling her hood out from under the tunic. “I will make sure that the servants are given word to remain on the main floors tomorrow.” He hesitated, knowing she was sensitive to the question he was about to ask, “Have you supped?”

It was a testament to their friendship, that she froze only for a moment, “Yes, thank you Peter, I have. In fact, I almost forgot! Do you have a discreet knight who could collect a body and my satchel from the tree-line on the north side of the barracks? I stowed both at the foot of the one that has been struck by lightning.”

“Of course. I will take care of it personally, after I speak with Martha. Do you require any supplies? You seem to have travelled light.” He tidied the dishes and Laura joined him, placing her untouched mug on the tray.

“My belongings and mount were left at the village two leagues from here.” She stretched her neck, “I assumed it best to approach by foot, given the time. I paid coin to have them delivered here later this morning; they will ask directly for you.”

“I understand, I will inform Martha.” He nodded, “Shall I have them delivered to your room?”

“No, thank you Peter. For simplicity I will retrieve them once evening falls,” she smiled.

He opened the door and held it open for her, “Let me show you to your room then.”

\--- 

My knife, it’s sharp and chrome

Come see inside my bones

All the fiends on the block

I’m the new king

I taste the queen

-“ _Knife Prty_ ,” Deftones


	2. Can I Be Changed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura discovers a book that makes her blush.  
> (Other things happen but that's my favorite part so that's all that you are getting for this summary.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Troublesome, this Gabriel Belmont._

She’d awoken to Peter knocking on her door and warning her it was still daylight. He’d apologized for waking her, but Gabriel was not here. Unbeknownst to Peter, Belmont had left on a spiritual retreat three days ago and would not be back for another two days.

Laura had not slept well and this was not a welcome awakening. She’d been plagued with dreams of being chased by werewolves and it’d ended with the endless peal of a merciless laugh she knew too well.

Irritated and exhausted, she’d had thrown open the door, yanked Peter into her pitch-black room and slammed the door shut. She realized too late that she should have told him what she was going to do.

He might have been older, but he was still a warrior with excellent reflexes. She’d been knocked clear across the room by the silver blade he’d thrown as it found a home in her shoulder. Sitting up, she saw Peter crouched in a corner, another blade at the ready. He couldn’t see her in the darkness.

She silently cursed in her head, _what an idiotic thing to do; I could have hurt him._ _Monster_ , her inner voice sneered at her.

“Peter, I am so sorry!” She got to her feet, “I should have told you I was going to do that. Are you alright? One moment, I will get the light.”

“God’s blood Laura, I could have killed you!! I am fine! I know I hit you…Don’t move. I have a candle in the hallway, one moment.” She watched him move cautiously in the dark and moments later, returned with the lamp.

Peter came forward quickly, pulling her to her feet and eyeballing the silver dagger protruding from her shoulder. “It’s been a while.” he said, “In this instance I am grateful my aim is not what it used to be. But the silver…”

Laura sighed. She’d already done a visual check on the other blades he carried when he approached, to ensure that they had the same handle. They were identical daggers, with a straightforward design with no ripples or notches.

She reached up and unceremoniously ripped it out of her shoulder, roughly wiping it on her ruined sleeping tunic and returning it to him without preamble.

“Remember, silver does not hurt me.” _Just itches like mad,_ she thought. Sure enough, the wound was already closing but with an infuriatingly prickly sensation remaining. Experience told her it would not subside for another ten minutes. It was an ironic talent unique to her; most vampires were incapacitated by silver.

“I confess I did not remember that and am relieved it is so. Do you need to tend to it or should we discuss a new strategy?” His eyes flicked to her bloodied shoulder. He cleared his throat and looked to the side.

“No, it is closing on its own, but thank you.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I’m really fine, Peter, don’t fret.” He nodded, inspecting the dagger she’d handed him.

“Where is Belmont now?” she asked, and noted that Peter was taking great care to clean the blade she’d taken from her shoulder.

“Gabriel could be 30 leagues in any direction.” She wasn’t imagining things. Peter was _studiously_ not looking at her.

Laura looked down at herself and stifled a chagrined groan. She had lived too long on her own and forgotten that her body, specifically her nudity, could be a source of distraction. Her heavy breasts and broad hips were clearly defined in the loose weave of her pale tunic.

Chagrined, she folded her arms across her chest. She moved away from the candle, taking refuge in the shadows. Peter was a dear friend but she was embarrassed for both of them. At least the tunic went well below her knees.

After she’s moved back and gone still, Peter cautiously looked at her. She must have been covered because he didn’t look away, “What are you going to do, Laura?”

 _And that was the question wasn’t it?_ she thought with annoyance. _How badly did she need Belmont?_

Laura sighed, wiping a smear of blood from her finger onto her night shift. “Be honest Peter. Who would you send, if Gabriel said no?”

Peter’s face told her everything she needed to know. After a brief discussion, which included directions to Belmont’s room in the barracks, and confirmation that Martha had been informed about Laura’s nature, they said goodbye. Laura would either send a message via Martha, if her plan was viable or meet with Peter at nightfall to discuss an alternate strategy.

She stripped her ruined tunic off and tossed it on the floor. Padding over to the far wall she located the basin and pitcher for washing. The water was cold but sufficient for cleaning off her blood from her shoulder. When she was done cleaning up, she placed the cloth on her nightgown.

Because of her blood, she needed to burn them, or have them rigorously cleaned to ensure no one would be poisoned. The potency of her blood would kill any mortal unlucky enough to consume it. Without her bite to accompany it, it was death with no chance of immortality.

_Troublesome, this Gabriel Belmont._

\---

Laura made sure that Martha could hear her approach from down the hallway. Peter had told her that his steward understood that Laura was a vampire who worked with the Brotherhood and would not harm her.

All the same, Laura wanted to make sure that Martha had time to avoid her if she wished. She did not blame the housekeeper if she was afraid or disgusted.

To her pleasant surprise, Martha was still bustling around the kitchen when Laura appeared at the doorway. The remnants of the supper were being cleaned up and the faint smell of butchered animals permeated the room. A red wimple covered Martha’s salt and pepper hair, but her energy was that of a younger woman. She exuded competence and contentment, wrapped up in a plump, exuberant package.

When she looked up with a smile, her face creased into happy lines carved by a life lived with purpose and contentment. Laura instinctively returned the smile, careful to not expose her fangs.

Martha inclined her head in Laura’s direction. “Hello again my Lady! I hope you have rested well?”

“Yes, thank you, it was lovely.” Laura carefully entered the room, “The room was well appointed and wonderfully refreshing.”

“Excellent, excellent. Oh! May I apologize for not greeting you in the appropriate manner last night?” She put down the dish she’d been drying and offered Laura a small bow.

Charmed, Laura reached out, and indicated for her to straighten. “Oh, please don’t! You treated me with great kindness last night, one could not ask for a finer greeting. I am grateful for your willingness to greet me with the same kindness today, when my lack of humanity has been revealed.”

“Has it my Lady?” Martha looked puzzled. “It seems to me that you are embodying the _best_ that humanity has to offer.”

“I’m sorry?” Laura was genuinely confused. “I thought Peter had spoken to you about my, ah, nature?”

Martha took a moment, drying her hands on her apron. She looked directly into Laura’s undead green eyes and the vampire saw only understanding in them.

The woman spoke, “I believe I understand your nature. I cannot imagine that it is easy for any creature to support an organization that actively hunts her kind. To choose the isolation and ostracization of her clan, in favor of helping those that would normally be her prey.”

Laura took a steadying breath, working to accept Martha’s clear, candid gaze. Beyond her few friends, no one had _ever_ tried to understand, or offered her sympathy, for how difficult her path had been. Certainly not a human who had no reason to trust her.

“Thank you, Martha, that is very generous and kind of you. What I am able to do though, is truly a small thing when compared to the darkness vampires bring to humanity.”

“Compassion is never small to those receiving it, my Lady.” Martha said gently.

“Truer words.” Laura said quietly. They stood together in silence for a moment; a tall, pale predator with a trailing crown of white braids and a small, round woman with kind eyes and an unmistakable inner light.

“What have you there?” Martha gestured to the neat bundle in Laura’s hand.

Laura looked down and produced her bundle, careful not to place it on the food surfaces, “I have two linens, which unfortunately have come in contact with my blood. My blood is poisonous if ingested by a human or if it comes into contact with open wounds. My intention was to burn them, but to be honest I did not bring another night shift on my journey. I wonder if I might impose on you to wash and mend it. I would myself, but I have other matters I must attend to.” She added hastily, “Only if you are comfortable with that…and can wash them where food will never be prepared. I would not be offended at all if you are not.”

Martha took the linens from her and looked at the ragged shoulder cut. “Peter told me that there had been an accident. I can repair this with a patch, but it won’t be the same my Lady. I am sure I could procure another night shift for you, one that is worthy of your station.”

Laura smiled at that, “I have no issue wearing a patched night shift Martha, but thank you.”

Martha nodded and refolded the shift, stowing it on a seat. “May I freshen your room while you are out tonight?”

“I don’t wish to add to your duties; I only need fresh water for the washing basin. I will want to clean up upon my return. Oh! The firewood as well please, I have used half the stock in the room. There is nothing else essential. I am aware it is the _end_ of the day for you and I am used to looking after myself. Please do not go to additional efforts, truly.”

Martha made a “mmmm” sound, and then said, “I will ensure that there is fresh water and restocked firewood my Lady.”

“Did Peter give you the list of supplies I had requested?” Laura asked, drawing her hood up.

“Ah yes!” Martha indicated a medium-sized sack on the floor beside the kitchen table. “Everything you requested is there. I left the burlap on the bolt. I take it that this means I should report to Peter that you are proceeding?” She went back to the table and dishes.

“Yes, hopefully I will be successful. I will return by daybreak if all goes well.” Laura bowed slightly and swept out.

\---

Laura dropped down into the shadowy hallway. Luck was with her as she crept along, counting the doorways. The brothers were at evening prayer and the floor was deserted. Peter had told her that Belmont’s room was fourth from the stairs, which meant she could enter and exit via the window in the hall.  
  
She paused in front of his door and listened, but there was nothing. He was truly gone. She allowed her body to disintegrate into a fine purple mist and poured through the keyhole. When she re-formed, she’d entered into a room bathed in moonlight.

His scent enveloped her immediately. Notes of leather, wood smoke, faint sweat and the suggestion of pepper and coriander. There was something else. She took a deep sniff. It was fragrant, enigmatic, inexplicable. She couldn’t place it and she _always_ knew her scents. Whatever it was, it tugged at something deep in her belly.

Shaking off the odd reaction, Laura explored the medium-sized room. With her excellent night vision and the moonlight, she could see as though it were the middle of the day. The room was dominated by a row of bookshelves stretching across the back wall. Laura had never seen so many books, save for her own library.

She crossed over to the shelves and browsed a couple of titles. With growing excitement, she realized Peter had not exaggerated Belmont’s intelligence. There was _everything_ in here!

A Bible was snuggled up to the _Nocturna Animalia_ , which was beside hide tanning instructions. A book on the healing properties of herbs was stacked on top of one on building techniques and a huge, gorgeously illustrated copy of _Beowulf_ on top of that. She took a moment to leaf through _Beowulf_ and told herself that envy was beneath her.

She crouched down, curious about what else might be here. There was a manual on fighting techniques of the Spartans, tales of fairies, gods and goddesses, an exquisitely wood blocked copy of _The Art of War,_ a thin, crumbling manuscript in Latin that she’d never seen before entitled _Maledictus homo et bestia,_ an adorably enthusiastic treatise on beekeeping and an extraordinarily accurate & graphic text on the anatomy of harpies.

Every book she opened had notes in the pages, thoughts detailed in robust flourishes of ink that flowed in a bold, clear script. It was a fascinating and startling insight into the mind of Gabriel Belmont. She’d thought Peter might have exaggerated.

 _Instead he_ _downplayed Belmont’s education_ , **_just_** _a tad_ , she thought wryly.

Telling herself it would be the last book, she pulled out a striking tome bound with soft white hide and adorned with scrolling golden text. The title was in the middle of a brilliant opening flower, کاما سوتر. It was written in a language that was foreign to her.

Intrigued, she stood up; opened the cover and idly flipped the pages. She didn’t recognize the language inside or even the paper. The texture was fine and delicate, with dense, hand-painted borders. There were pictures of people in a lush landscape, dancing, cooking, playing.

There were small notations in the margins, made with the same bold strokes as the other books she’d perused. They made no sense to her however, likely because she could not read the text they were referring to.

What could she determine from comments like, ‘dharma, artha, kama,’ ‘equal partner,’ and ‘Yes! Essential!’ was that it seemed to be discussing relationships. She flipped more pages and studied the art work. It was very similar to the depictions she saw when she travelled to Kannauj, the capital city for the Gujar-Pratihara empire.

She continued to flip the pages absently, looking sightlessly into the dark as she thought. She was caught up in remembering the sizzling, colorful landscape and the fascinating, complex people. Absently she glanced down at the pages again and startled, she dropped the book. It bounced closed at her feet.

She picked up it back up and looked around. There was no one around of course. No one to ask her what she was looking at, or what she was doing in Belmont’s room. She cautiously opened the book back up and flipped towards that astounding page.

Finding the page again, she gazed on the incredibly, well, _pretty,_ illustration of a woman bent at the waist and a man entering her from behind. They looked _very_ happy about it too. There were notes in the margins and she just couldn’t believe it.

She was not innocent; she knew that even monks had sex. Up until recently, Belmont was married so he would have had sex too. _Maybe he was having sex right now, who knew?_ She thought, _who cares?_

 _Why are you flustered then?_ Her brain asked her, all reason. _Well, **because**_ **.** She knew how sex worked…for the most part. Sex wasn’t pretty, sex wasn’t happy and sex certainly wasn’t enjoyable for everyone involved. But this book seemed to suggest that there was something else to it. The notes seemed to suggest that Gabriel Belmont might know something else about it.

She turned another page and there was a triptych. In the first, the woman was on her knees with her hand wrapped around the man’s shaft. In the second she appeared to be kissing it. In the third… _you’ve got to be kidding me!_ Laura thought, somewhat repulsed, _who would **want** to do that? _But the expression on the woman’s face made her wonder. Clearly, someone did.

She turned the page, drawn to the contradiction of what the book was suggesting might be possible, and what her experience has been. This page was another triptych, and showed a man using his mouth and hands between a woman’s thighs.

Laura wasn’t surprised by her disgust at the act, but was surprised by her naiveté. She’d never seen a man do this, so she had just _assumed_ that no man did. Unbidden, her eyes were drawn to the margins, which were packed with notations in that strong scrawl.

Before she could stop herself, she read a couple at random, ‘ _Even pressure_ ,’ ‘ _vary licks_ ,’ ‘ _this! Incredible!_ ’ with an arrow to the indecipherable text, _‘listen to her breathe,’_ and in capital letters, and underlined three times, _‘ MULTIPLE TIMES!!!’ _She slammed the book shut.

Apparently, Gabriel Belmont was the kind of man who did do this. Ardently.

 _Suffer well, Laura, how does this help you obtain his assistance?_ She asked herself. This was _not_ what she’d intended when she entered his room. She stood for a moment, willing herself not to wonder what ‘ _MULTIPLE TIMES!!!_ ’ meant.

Why was she even remotely curious? She’d avoided sex and even the suggestion of it, for centuries. For very good reasons. To even **wonder** about it was distressing to her. There was nothing to wonder about, but here she was! By all that is holy, she needed to stop this **right now**. She had to work with this man. She didn’t care what he did, or didn’t do. _Did she?_

She crouched, ramming the book back into the shelf it came from and reached for the next book. She was hoping for something like infections of the bowel, or anatomy of a rat, _anything_ to distract her. ‘ _Vary licks.’ By all the saints, what kind of man **liked** something like that? _she thought with confusion.

The next book was bound in black hide with simple grey stitching. She opened it to a random page near the middle and immediately realized her mistake. The page was hand written in Gabriel Belmont’s now familiar scrawl.

She meant to close it. She really, truly did; but the underlined heading caught her attention and she was reading before she knew it.

**_ Light and Death _ **

_Once I was strong._

_Powerful beyond measure, beyond imagining._

_In my folly I believed that it would always be this way._

_The cruelest lesson is to be left with nothing._

_I know now,_

_No one is untouchable._

_I can’t let go and I can’t forget._

_It is what is in our hearts that God cares about._

_He loves you as he loves me._

_I have only to ask for forgiveness deep within myself to be welcomed back._

_But I can’t forgive what I have done._

_I don’t know if I ever will._

_God does not speak to me._

It was beautiful. It was heartbreaking. His words battered her like waves carving rifts of land from the banks that held it, and covertly stole her breath.

She closed the book softly. She’d learned far more than she had intended. These words were not for her. This was not why she was here and she was invading his privacy, however inadvertently. Studying his words was a violation of the trust she was hoping to share with Gabriel Belmont. 

There were several similarly bound books. She peered in two others at random, careful to avert her eyes so as not to read the words. They were in the same hand writing.

Feeling more kinship with Gabriel Belmont than she was comfortable with, she shelved the books and stood back up. Unsettled and somber, she scanned the rest of the room. There was a sturdy, wide desk with carved dragon’s feet, papers and scrolls piled beside an ink well. An unadorned wash basin with a sturdy earthen pitcher. A large bed with a dark wool blanket on it.

Then, seemingly out of place but utterly delightful, there was a lacquered, carved chest at the foot of his bed. Patinaed with age, it was deep vermilion and black. It called to her. She likened the color to fresh blood and immediately despised herself. Entranced by the rich tones and striking imagery, she caressed the top where a coiled dragon crouched over a flock of cranes.

She was desperately curious about its contents but no, she wouldn’t open it, unless she had to. She had intruded enough on Gabriel Belmont due to her carelessness tonight. She would show restraint and discretion now, when she had a conscious choice. Even if she was dying of curiosity.

She tried to shake this off. This was not like her at all; she was not a person to invade someone’s secrets. She understood how secrets could destroy if and when they were brought to light. _So why are you so eager for his?_ she wondered and was ashamed to say it might have been because she had to give him some of hers soon.

Apparently, trying to understand her behavior tonight would result in a total loss. Forcing herself to focus, she scanned the rest of the room. There was no art in the room; save a small wood cross hanging above the bed.

 _Wait, that was wrong_. She’d just noticed a tiny twin frame, with two portraits facing each other. Each one was the size of her palm. The one on the left depicted a lovely woman with bound brown hair. The top of her dress was white and delicate and her smile was kind and sweet.

Laura turned her attention to the other painting on the right side. It was a man with brown hair and blue-grey eyes. His face was strong, but there was a suggestion of kindness. He was wearing a small smile that was two steps from a smirk.

Each portrait had a lock of hair coiled into a tiny glass receptacle below it.

Laura caught her breath. This was Gabriel Belmont and his late wife. She knew it in her bones. They were a handsome couple, but it struck Laura that she couldn’t imagine looking _every day_ at someone she loved, but could no longer hold. To know what was lost every time you looked. To remember all that was.

Still, it moved Laura that he would have kept it out. Looked at it and remembered. Her empathy for a man she’d never met disturbed her.

 _This was ridiculous,_ she reflected. _She had no business feeling anything about him, or for him. That would lead to complications that she could not afford._ It was already interfering.

Beside that, she was a _monster_ to this man. He hunted and killed her kind. She was hoping he might agree to assist her, but she had no illusions that they would be friends.

Hissing in frustration, Laura growled at herself. Above all else, time was the essence and yet _here she was_ , lingering over his room as though it contained the answers to all the questions she’s asked herself over the centuries. Enough was enough.

She went over to his bed and briskly searched it for hair. Unfortunately, she found several. Either he shared his bed with numerous people, or they had a common laundry in the Brotherhood. She felt a vague urgency around this question but dismissed it as unimportant. She turned back to the portraits, taking a long pause to consider.

Her decision was made, simply because there wasn’t any other way to be sure.

She gently took the portraits and turned them over, offering a silent apology to both depictions. Extending a talon into a flattened edge, she delicately pried the glass receptacle open under Gabriel’s portrait and teased a single hair out. Replacing the glass and putting the frame back in place was the work of seconds.

Despite the care she’d taken, and the essential nature of her mission, she felt humbled. She offered a respectful bow to the portraits.

Turning to the door, she inhaled his single hair deeply. Pepper, coriander, smoke and that puzzling, maddening scent. She deliberately settled Gabriel’s scent at the forefront of her mind. She brought the hair down to her mouth and extended her tongue.

With a flash of uncomfortable recollection, she thought, _“vary licks.”_ Her hiss almost blew the hair from her grasp. Rolling her eyes at herself, she quickly placed it on her tongue. She tasted it, his flavour seeping into her.

 ** _Gabriel Belmont._** Something deep inside her heard the evocative call, and answered. She felt the reverberation of a gate snapping shut. Awareness flooded into her with force, clarity and heat. _She had him now._

\--- 

It's all over   
It's all over now   
No room for hiding   
We're children fighting now   
And hope you go up to heaven right now  
The rain is falling   
Today we're leaving   
Our souls are calling now   
The stars on his right holding seven right now   
The rain is falling   
Can I be changed?   
Or am I the same  
\- “ _Seven,_ ” Revis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for joining me on this journey. As the title suggests, this is the story told to me by the characters and I am happy to finally give them their due.
> 
> This work started almost six years ago and I am really excited to finally write it down. I am writing this as someone who desperately loved the Lords of Shadow series but imagined it as so much more than it was. I promise, you really don't need to have played the games to enjoy this. But if you have, you'll recognize characters, weapons, places references and even dialogue. As I have written much of this already and am just in the process of editing, I am aiming to update every 3-7 days as my life permits.
> 
> I'd like to give a special shout out to my partner, JAJ, who has tirelessly supported me in this endeavor, without whom, it would never have seen the light of day. Enormous gratitude to my sister as well, her encouragement and beta reading got this off the ground.
> 
> Last, but certainly not least, I cannot sing the praises enough for xantissa & Quarra's incredible Castlevania/Witcher series, "No Wolves Allowed." While an incredibly different feel and plot than the one I am pursuing, their work is extremely funny, sexy and deeply invested in characters that you would love to call your own. Please check them out, and as this story progresses, you'll see my teeny-tiny Witcher nod in their honor. It is because of their faithful work, that this story never petered out for me, but was kept in the back of my mind having a conversation with their Dracula, Alucard and Geralt. Then one day about six months ago, Geralt finally whipped out his dick and told Gabriel to put up or shut up. So Gabriel put up, so to speak.


	3. The Scent of You Is Bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura meets Gabriel. It's not what she is expecting. For his part, he's cold and just wants a cookie. Then he smells her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was the deadest part of the night. Nothing stirs but things that will eat, and be eaten. The last night of the full moon meant that Gabriel had been up all night. He’d been hunting three zombies and he was _pissed_. They’d led him on a merry chase halfway across the Hunting Path because they wove and backtracked all over the damn place. Tracking them was like stalking a pack of drunks to the privy.

He’d picked them off one by one, tore them a new one and consigned them all to Hell, before heading back to his camp at a slow lope. Once there he wanted to just collapse on his pallet. He eyed it longingly, but he was filthy and besides, zombies smelled like shit. With a long-suffering sigh, he grabbed his pants, black tunic, and the distinctive armored coat of the Brotherhood. It was a deep crimson, with a skull over the sternum and elaborate gold trim. He dumped out his satchel and located a lump of hide wrapped with twine. Untying it, a cake of soap tumbled into his waiting palm.

He didn’t know what scent it was. The soap had always come in shipments to the Brotherhood and until fairly recently, he’d just grabbed whatever was available. About a year ago he started being more careful, after spending two weeks literally smelling like roses. Martha had teased him something fierce on that one, but there had been no option; all the other soaps had been claimed. He’d had to wear it, like the scent of shame it was. He’d started sniffing the bars when choosing and had settled on this one very quickly. Nowadays he recognized this bar on sight. It smelled like warm, spiced wood and he was good with that. He stuffed his clothes, the soap, and a large square of linen he used to dry himself into his satchel and pulled on his boots.

Gabriel hiked out of his camp a half mile and found the edge of the stream he’d been following for the last few days. Dropping his clothes and wading into the stream, he bit back an oath from the cold jolt. There was a healthy sense of self pity in that moment. _Just do it you coward,_ he thought and dunked down into the water. It didn’t even come up to his shoulders. He had to maneuver a graceless half-float on his back to get what he was pretty sure was rotting bits of zombie out of his hair. _This is bullshit_ , he thought, feeling like a grumpy bear coming out of hibernation. It was the quickest soap of his life but he was thorough. _Don’t want to smell like carrion out here,_ he thought.

Shaking with cold, he clambered out of the stream and dried off. He put on his pants and tunic, before he wrung out the linen square. Folding it up, he wiped off his feet and put them into the boots. He was much warmer now and finished dressing with ease. Gabriel belted his armor in place, as much for warmth as for protection. _Time to head back,_ he thought. He was looking forward to his fire, his pallet, and maybe finishing the Alexandrian edition of Sappho’s poetry that he was reading. It was gorgeous and insightful; he’d been thoroughly enjoying it. He had not gone a hundred paces when he heard it. Something big, clumsy and fast was coming towards him. _I just got cleaned up!_ Gabriel thought indignantly; then the forest split open to spit out something he’d never seen before.

By the light of the moon he gaped at the giant monstrosity of burlap, twine, and patch-worked limbs in the shape of a bloated man. Something about it made him think of a poorly constructed child’s toy. It glowed with an inner red light and reached for him with grotesquely formed limbs before it halted clumsily. Threaded needles danced around its body like miniature spears. They swayed above its head on a twisted mass of fine rope looped like a deadly scarf around its neck. It stared at him with dead eyes and a considering tilt of its head. Gabriel eyed it with resignation. _I **just** want my book and my bed!_ he thought.

When he spoke, his demeanor was calm. “I don’t suppose you are here to deliver some cookies to me, are you?” He paused. “I’ve been craving some gingersnaps for the last few days.” The thing cocked its head at him but didn’t otherwise respond. “Didn’t think so.” He sighed, widening his stance slightly.

It just stood there, and he felt cold water drip from his hair down the collar of his coat. “Any chance I can just skirt around you, you’ll behave yourself, and we’ll pretend we never saw each other? I’m kind of cold.” As he spoke, he became aware of someone else out in the forest. He opened his senses as wide as he dared towards the presence, while still concentrating on the ‘doll’ in front of him.

Something feminine and herbal was on the wind, but he couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from. He felt a shiver of awareness cartwheel down his spine and stepped forward. That was a mistake. The patchwork man swung at him with flailing needles and overstuffed arms. Gabriel rolled beneath the trailing threads and sharp edges, silver dagger drawn. Silver was a crapshoot with magical things like this, but a blade was a blade.

With an overhead swipe, he severed the threads holding the needles. They rained down into the moss and the deadly toy roared in anger. Gabriel continued rolling and came up with a holy water flask. He flung the water into its face, buying time to find his feet. The burlap man staggered back as the flask exploded in an intense blue light, igniting flames across its bloated visage.

It never recovered. Gabriel saw his opening and pounced. He sped toward it in a low crouch, yanking up two of the discarded needles from the ground. Rising into a controlled leap, he angled both needles downward and impaled the chest of the thing. He used his momentum to continue over its head and grabbed the trailing ends of the rope around its neck. Pulling the ropes tight and planting his boots between its shoulder blades for leverage, he strained back.

It was over quickly. With a sickening ripping sound, the patchwork head popped off, and the red glowing mist within it dissipated without protest. The giant body toppled forward. Gabriel rode it to the ground, dropped the rope, and jumped off as it met the forest floor. He could still smell the presence of whomever was out in the dark underbrush, and felt anger at the inevitable confrontation. He was down to _maybe_ three hours before sunrise and his fire would be _ashes_ by the time this was over.

“Enjoying the show?” he sneered into the night. The wind shifted and the scent curled out to him again. _Feminine, crisp, fresh_. It tantalized him and his gut inadvertently tightened in response. He was more tired than he thought if _that_ was his first reaction.

“I was considering it more of a chess game, but I could see how you might think it a show. Suffer well, Gabriel Belmont.” Her voice was a low and evocative fog that settled around him like smoke from burning autumn leaves. Twisting sinuously out of the dark, it was somehow earthy but warm at the same time. Her words seemed to come from everywhere at once and he resisted whirling around to chase it.

Gabriel closed his eyes and concentrated, willing her to speak again or move. Something, anything to help him trace back to her. _There!_ On his left, about 10 feet into the brush—the faint scrape of metal against leather. His eyes opened and he charged left, a bottled fairy in one hand and a silver dagger in the other. _Now we’ll play my game,_ he thought with a smirk.

When the trees parted, he caught the impression of a pale, tall, curvy woman in black armor. Right before he struck, he had the satisfaction of seeing surprise in her shining green eyes. She met his blade with one of her own but too late, he realized that the other was gripped in her fist for a short thrust into his ribs. She didn’t take the opportunity however, just held her short sword defensively protecting her own torso. While her restraint surprised him, she was fighting with two short swords and he was fighting with daggers. _Seems fair_ , he thought sarcastically. _Let’s fix that_.

Inching his dagger down her blade, he notched it into the sword’s hilt and jerked towards the ground at the same time that he released the fairy. Tiny green creatures with wings and paralyzing dust, the Brotherhood of Light would capture and bottle them. They could be used against creatures of the night to stun and distract. Gabriel just needed a moment’s diversion to gain the upper hand and prayed it would work. Some monsters were immune to them, and he wasn’t completely sure what he was fighting.

Sword successfully wrenched out of her hand, he caught it with his free hand below her belly. He shifted to thrust the dagger into her thigh and slash the other leg with the short sword, when he realized that the fairy had done its work. She was completely captivated by it. He hesitated. _She could have gone for my ribs_ ; _why didn’t she?_ He wondered. Rather than attacking, he took the few seconds to find his feet and catch his breath. The fairy danced around her in eerie green trails that shimmered like sunlight through stained glass. His glimpses of her came in flashes, like watching a landscape in a lightening storm; all dark shadow and brilliant spotlights.

She was unmistakably a vampire. Evil incarnate, scourge of humanity; her pale skin, glowing eyes and the predatory, powerful frame were all things he associated with bloodsuckers. Oddly, that is where the vampire traits seemed to end. She didn’t seem to possess either the charismatic beauty or terrible grotesqueness of her kind. Instead, her facial features were slightly rounded and soft, like a newborn kitten or a small child sleeping. It was heightened by her bright braid, which was either an incredibly light blonde or stark white. It left her eyes unframed and they shone out of her face almost as if they were gems, positively glowing in the green light of the fairy.

It disconcerted him, how _soft_ she looked; lips parted, eyes mellow, body lax. She’d dropped the hand clutching the short sword to her side and had her other out to the fairy. The gesture made her look as though she were entreating the winged creature to trust her. The impression of softness seemed to extend to her body as well. She was clad in simple, black leather armor with a grey tunic. Every line that could be seen was a long, deep curve. Hips, breasts, shoulders, thighs—all almost absurd in its rounded arch. Every bend seemed to beg for an urgent nip, or appreciative squeeze. Her strength echoed in the gentle contours of muscles under the pale skin; muscles that ran her full height. She was tall, especially for a woman. He was pretty sure that her legs went up to her ears.

He was at a loss to explain why she drew him. _Was it something about the contrast?_ He wondered. _The power twined with the unabashed femininity?_ He was reminded of a wild pony; all curves, unconquered power and wild spirit, but somehow velvety, touchable, sweet. 

The most perplexing thing though, was still her smell _._ Vampires smelled ancient, like menace and old wounds. Sure, they would wear perfumes and bathe, but an integral part of their aroma was decaying human blood. He couldn’t smell blood on her at all, old or fresh. Almost perversely, she smelled like the height of spring when everything was new and growing. He would have thought it was a glamour spell or imbued magical item, but the fairy should have weakened anything of that nature. Enough that he should be able to catch a whiff of blood, anyway. He opened his senses, inhaled deeply and there was _nothing._

 _Would she taste like she smelled?_ Asked his shadow voice, the part of himself he thought of as a beast, the voice of sin.

Instantly disgusted, he reined it in. _She **eats** people that’s what she’ll taste like, _he retorted. _Blood, death and evil. Lead me not into temptation._

It had been a long night, that was all this was. He had only a second now, until the fairy would disappear and she would attack him. She’d said it was a chess game, what move should he make? He decided on prudence. With speed born of urgency, he circled to her flank. He pressed the first sword to her throat, while simultaneously wrenching her weapon away and twirling the short blade to its sharp edge. He pressed it into her belly hard enough that it bit into the woven leather. He knew he was a big man, tall and broad, so it was unnerving that she fit against him as though they might embrace. The top of her head rested right under his chin. It was more unsettling to realize he was subtly sniffing her hair.

 _Taste her,_ said the shadow voice. Gabriel was repulsed by the suggestion. That elegantly clean scent was incredibly potent this close to the source. Now he picked up tart, woody notes too.

 _How can evil smell like this?_ He struggled to understand. She had not moved, but her breath had become ragged. He felt her neck muscles tense fractionally against her sword, “Checkmate,” Gabriel taunted into her ear.

“How dare you attack me! Where is your restraint?” There is no fear in her words, only outrage. Delivered in that throaty voice, it might as well have been an invitation into her bedroom.

 _That voice has no business with this scent,_ his shadow mind helpfully observed _. Its timbre is whispers in the dark, but she smells like grass after the rain._ He didn’t trust it and his suspicion increased.

“The same restraint your doll puppet man showed with me? If that is your idea of self-control, perhaps I’m the one who should be unimpressed,” he snapped.

“You are overconfident. That is a poor quality in a warrior.” Her voice had tightened, likely with anger but he couldn’t be sure. “You will regret that.”

“You are just mad that the sparkly made you lose your focus,” he lightly mocked, “It’s a sure sign of a weak mind.”

That seemed to hit a sore spot; she hissed at him, “You are a cheat and you are going to pay!”

She burst into a dark violet mist with a swarm of screaming bats that surrounded him. _Should have seen that coming,_ he chided himself. He pivoted and caught her downward slash on the curved blade of her short sword. Claws had formed from her nailbeds into midnight blades of death that shone on the shiny metal of the blade. She was clearly accustomed to wielding them as weapons, but he was facing her with her short swords now. _The balance is about to shift_ , he reflected with amusement, _you just don’t know it yet._

Her other claw raked over his armored coat, catching in the golden trim on the shoulder. _Well, shit_ , he thought as she jerked him down. It threw him off balance and she encouraged his fall with a well-placed kick to his ankle. He managed to get a dagger off as he fell, but she was too fast for him and dodged it. He used his momentum to roll into a backwards leap. It created distance between them that allowed him to throw a holy water flask at her. She shuddered as it broke at her feet, blue flames licking at her limbs. He felt real concern when it failed to stop her and she just kept coming. _What the hell?!_ he thought with alarm.

“You are so predictable. I'm losing my patience,” she bit out in harsh tones and reached down to grab his boot with black claws. Gabriel felt the strength of her grip and the scrape of her talons on the metal was cringe-inducing.

“This is you _patient!?_ ” he snapped out, irritated with her opinion of his performance.

Her braid swung across her shoulders, an offering of leverage. Lighting quick, he wrapped his hand in it— _God it was like **silk**_ — and reached into his belt with his other hand. “Your chess game has a _lot_ of rules.” Jerking her hair, he pulled her down onto his chest and had a momentary impression of yielding softness and firm muscle. Ignoring it, he rolled her under him and lifted the object from his belt into her view.

“I’m making a couple of my own,” he gloated, triumphant, as he smashed the crystal between them and spun off of her. Springing to his feet, he lifted the shards in his fist to the sky. Red winds howled around them, bathing the scene in the color of oozing blood. A gigantic silhouette moved in the shadows and the vampire looked up from her prone position in the dirt with utter disbelief on her face.

A serpentine demoness slithered into the red glare, bound in giant chains. Flexing her claws, the shackles that held the creature shook as she tested them. The chains shattered like glass when the monstrous arms parted, revealing her mutilated nude human form atop a serpent’s body. Her mouth was torn flesh, enormous horns thrusting out from where eyes should have been. Coiled and powerful, she opened her mouth and roared.

The demoness circled them, building up speed in an instant. Gabriel felt the pressure of the supernatural storm build quickly as she swirled around them in a vermilion tornado. That’s when it happened. Blue currents of lightning appeared like rivers, parting the red winds like a tunneling mole. The lightning forked with dazzling intensity and the demoness faltered, her scarred mouth twisted in an uncertain sneer. The vampire was on her feet and lightning coursed out of her fingers. Unable to reach her because he had to stay in place to hold the spell, he could only watch.

The serpent tail of the demoness thrashed and bowed in agony. _Motherfucker,_ Gabriel thought in dazed admiration and a healthy dose of fear. The vampire brought her hands together, palm to palm, arms straight out from her body like the prow of a ship. She separated them in a quick jerk. A gigantic bolt of lightning shot out and struck the demoness between her breasts. Arching in torment, blue light burst from her throat and coursed down her front all the way to the tail. She was split open from the inside out. With a final blinding flash, the demoness winked out of existence.

 _I’m in trouble here,_ Gabriel thought, desperately wishing for his combat cross. _Now that would be a fair fight._ But like the idiot he was, it was hundreds of feet away, which might as well be on the other side of the country. “You hadn’t finished explaining the rules I see,” he offered, subtly shifting his stance towards his camp.

The vampire’s hands dropped to her side, “I underestimated your abilities,” she said as she turned back toward him.

 _That makes two of us_ , he thought with resentment. He’d been lured by the _peculiarities_ of her vampirism and it wouldn’t happen again. She was a powerful vampire and a formidable opponent. He should have slashed her legs when the fairy had her, and ended her where she fell.

She didn’t move towards him, suddenly still after that incredible display of power. “Do you want our game to continue?” There was a bitter edge to her voice, “Go on. Play. It's very easy.”

“I feel a little disadvantaged here. I think of 'playing' as something fun and not involving the potential for unpleasant death. Why do you want to kill me?” he asked.

Her quiet sigh was unexpected and she lifted her hands to let them fall again, “I actually don’t want to. This was a test.” He noticed that her claws were gone, replaced with black fingernails.

Gabriel halted his minute creep backwards as he felt his temper shift from irritation and wariness, to full-bore pissed. “Honesty is always best with me. I hate secrets and I _despise_ tests. Hidden agendas help no one.” His anger slid back to confusion, and his jaw dropped, when she offered him a graceful little bow.

“You have my apologies. I did not intend for the evening to go in this manner. I am afraid you got under my skin and I was going to teach you a lesson.” Her smile was small but genuine. For some reason, he wanted to return it and that only fed his anger. She continued, “Apparently, we both learned some important things this evening.”

“I learned that vampires are cryptic and annoying,” he spat out, “as usual.”

She tensed. “I didn’t intend to be the usual vampires you’ve hunted. I apologize for being ambiguous but it is not safe for us to discuss the reason for my…visit out in the open. I will be in a position to discuss everything with you tonight, at Peter’s home.”

“ _Peter’s home_?” She might as well have slapped him, and for a moment, he just stared at her.

“See you there,” she murmured and misted into the forest. He did not pursue her; it could be a trap or she could return. Better to stay on alert. Did he believe her? It simply wasn’t possible; she would be dead the moment she entered the gates of the Brotherhood’s barracks. This was some bizarre game…

Her voice curled out one more time, those burning autumn leaves, “Please bring my swords back, I am fond of them. Suffer well.”

 _Well that went well,_ he thought sourly. _Including her little threat, ‘suffer well.’_ Her scent faded and after a moment he could feel she was gone. He brought the swords up to his face and turned them in the moonlight. Matched weapons about the length of his forearm; they were light, long and expertly crafted. They curved delicately like a feather along their blade and had grey leather bindings on the handles. Their sole ornamentation appeared to be a screaming Medusa heads at the hilt.

He looked closer. The Medusas were beautifully rendered, each snake twisted and writhing, tiny scales etched row upon row. The Medusa herself was fierce; fangs extended and battle ready, the blades vomited out of their enraged mouths. The feminine fury in them was tangible. He held one in each hand as he hiked back to camp and rolled them in his bedroll, as he quickly packed up and made his way to the closest town.

Once there, he resisted the urge to sell the swords, just out of spite. It would have been satisfying but no one there would be able to afford something of that quality anyway. He obtained a horse and set out for the Brotherhood, knowing he would reach Peter’s home shortly before sunset. As the sun rose, it kissed his cheeks and bathed the land with warmth. Gabriel could smell the morning dew. Fighting with himself, it made him think of her scent. _She’s a murdering blood drinker,_ he argued internally. _She’s **evil.**_ It disturbed him that he kept returning to the softness of her braid wrapped in his hand.

\--- 

Holy eyes

I never knew I'd beg down at your feet

Hold on tight

I never knew I'd know much more than this

Open sky, the wave of pain, the scent of you is bliss

Hungry eyes, they stare at me. I know, I know.

Don't go...

-‘ _The Hunger’,_ The Distillers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested, wander over to @ecastle_vania on Twitter and rant into the void. I like to post random Gabriel/Laura stuff.  
> \---  
> I wrote this for Promptober 2020, ["My Fury Knows No Bounds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26746795). It's Laura's perspective returning to the Brotherhood after this meeting. It's in no way required for understanding or context for the rest of Carmen Relinquo but it does have some sweet fight scenes <3


	4. A Thousand Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently baths are an excellent time to think about Gabriel's shoulders, his face, his [redacted]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laura trusted Peter. She had known him practically his whole life. He was a devout man without being pious, and faithful without being a zealot. They’d worked together numerous times to ensure that humanity was not overcome by the creatures of the night. More than that, they _understood_ each other and a deep friendship had developed.

Peter believed that this ‘Gabriel Belmont’ was the best option that she and the Brotherhood had for gathering information at Carmilla’s summit to prevent all out war. Because of this, she would do whatever was needed to ensure that Gabriel overcame his distaste and hatred for her. She needed for them to work together.

She awoke to darkness. She didn’t truly know what time it was, but her internal clock told her that it was sunset or very shortly thereafter. Upon rising she instantly missed her home, particularly the baths. She cast a rueful glance at the empty copper tub. It was tucked beside the fireplace that was glowing with the remains of a banked fire. Laura took the candle off the mantle and lit it in the embers. When the room flared to life around her, she made her way to the low bureau with the wash basin.

The shallow bowl of water that she’d utilized the day before was there, as was the thumb-sized lump of soap and the round pot of cream. She was grateful that the water was at least fresh. Martha had replaced it after Laura’s wash up last night. 

Resigned, Laura splashed cold water on her arms, chest and face, drying off with a plain square of linen. She was just reaching for her clothes when she heard a soft tap on her door. “Yes?” she called out.

The soft voice of an older female, Martha, carried through the door, “My Lady? I’ve brought your bathwater.”

Laura closed her eyes in gratitude. Peter was an absolute gift and knew her so well. She would give him the biggest kiss when she saw him tonight. She quickly threw her sleep tunic back on, adding a robe for good measure this time. “Please, come in!” she called eagerly, taking three strides to throw open the door.

Martha stood, sturdy and alert, with no less than five young lads behind her, each one laden with two kettles of steaming liquid. Laura decided she was completely in love with Martha and would bring her flowers the next time she visited. Bustling in, Martha capably supervised the tub’s relocation to the front of the fire, the careful dump of the hot water, and the re-kindling of the room’s fire.

As the tub filled, Laura’s plans for Martha’s gifts became elaborate. She would bring her fragrant oils, cakes of soap, bath salts… Laura was imagining a hand-embroidered bathing bag to contain it all, maybe with little rabbits, by the time that the last bucket emptied into the tub. 

Mission accomplished, Martha dismissed the boys from the bedroom before turning at the door to look at Laura. “Is there anything else I might acquire for you my Lady?” she asked.

Laura clasped her hands in front of her and resisted dancing. “Martha, you’ve absolutely made my _day_ with this bath, I cannot thank you enough. You are a treasure. What smell do you prefer?”

Martha blinked, a look of confusion coming over her face. “Smells, my Lady?”

Laura laughed at herself, unaware that the woman found it to be charming. “Apologies, I meant scents,” the vampire clarified. “As in a fragrance you might wear or smell in the world. Scents that please, not disgust.” The confused expression cleared. Whether Martha thought it an odd question or not, she did not comment. 

She was clearly taking the question seriously and thought for a moment. With a blooming smile, she spoke. “I love most flowers my Lady, but have a particular fondness for the scent of the small purple flowers that grow wild in the cattle fields. I cannot recall their name, but my mother’s mother would gather them and place them on my bed as a child. I would fall asleep to that smell. To this day I love it. It is safe. It is home.”

Laura felt a clutch in her heart. The tenderness in Martha’s words had deeply moved her. _What would that be like to be loved in such a faithful manner?_ she wondered. Martha recounted it so affectionately, reverence in her tone. _What would it be like to matter so much to someone, that love was reflected in their voice when they spoke of you?_ Laura closed her eyelids against the deep loneliness that assailed her senses and cleared her throat. Opening her eyes again, she smiled kindly at the steward.

“Thank you for sharing that with me, Martha. What a wonderful memory. I cannot think of anything else I could possibly need right now, thank you,” Laura gave a small bow.

Martha gave her a lovely smile, “You are most welcome, my Lady.” She returned the bow, before shutting the door firmly behind her.

Laura stood for a moment and allowed herself one second to wallow in her emotions. She wondered if she would ever stop feeling so stripped every single time she encountered the sweetness of love between people. 

The vampire wondered if she would ever be able to hear it, see it, even read about it, without that pang of grief for something she’d lost and would never have again. _No, not lost._ **_Stolen,_** she reminded herself. Regardless of how it happened, it was gone. It was an impossibility that love would come back into her life and she had accepted that. _Mostly._

She had known for a very long time that she had lost her family and would never have another. She would live a loveless, cursed existence that stretched into an endless nothing until the end of time. There was nothing she could change about the circumstances of what had transpired, but she could choose how she would face it.

That’s why she _chose_ to live. To use her immortality and power to benefit humanity. To be _something_ other than a plague of death and horror. That is why she was here at the Brotherhood of Light. That is why she needed Gabriel Belmont. That is why her self-pity had no place in today. She needed to get moving.

She turned back to the tub. Only slightly forcing a delighted chortle, the sound aided her in moving past her sadness. She locked the door again. Deliberately, and then honestly exuberant, Laura shucked off her clothes. Gleeful as a small child at Yuletide, she dove for her black sack slouched against the end of her bed.

Rummaging around, she withdrew a small grey sack embroidered with a delicate deer dancing on a bed of flowers. Inside she located a woven grass basket approximately the size of her palm and retrieved a light green cake of soap. She inhaled the fragrance of the soap deeply, the sharp scent of mint and petitgrain infusing her senses. It always made her smile.

She dug a moment longer and withdrew a cloudy, tan liquid in a tall, slim bottle. She clutched both to her breasts and padded over to the tub. Dipping her toe into the hot water, the moan that rolled off her tongue could only be described as wanton. Slowly she sunk down in the water, mindful not to splash and make a mess for Martha. It would hardly show how profoundly grateful she was to make more work for the woman.

Entirely immersed, she rolled her shoulders and leaned back. She simply sat, content to steep in the warmth and drift. She felt peaceful and calm; the last vestiges of her heartache slipped away. Unbidden, Gabriel Belmont’s face drifted into her thoughts. She immediately scowled, pushing him away. This was _her_ space. Plenty of time to worry about him and that mess of a first meeting later. She needed to think of something relaxing.

Instantly her gardens at home came to mind and her smile stretched across her face. She adored growing things. There was an indescribable joy at coaxing life out from nothing. From encouraging something to not only live, but to riotously thrive. Her plants needed her, just as much as she needed them. She gave them undying affection and attention. In return, they gave her purpose.

Laura, vampire, creature of doom, harbinger of death, could _give_ life. It was a knowledge she held dear and secret in her shadowy heart. No one knew just how much it meant to her, how much it had healed her, to learn this about herself. It had started as a need to do something outside of herself, something that would keep her hands busy and her mind distracted. She would spend hours with her gardens, her hands in the dirt, smears of green on her arms and a grin on her face. 

Her pride and joy were her herbs, but she loved all that was green and grew. Over the decades and centuries, she’d expanded exponentially. She’s spent years planning new beds, decades researching fertilizing techniques and centuries pouring over historical and modern texts on watering apparatus and hybridization. Her gardens flourished, spilling out from the enormous greenhouse complex and into the surrounding fields.

After her siring, when she’d fled as far away as she possibly could; she’d seen any number of agricultural processes and routines. While she hadn’t examined them in detail, she had a good memory for such things and discovered she had excellent instincts. Trial and error had offered surprising success. She expanded her herbs, incorporating seeds procured by Chupa, a dear friend and companion.

She smiled fondly, remembering her first meeting with the Chupacabra as he was attempting to steal her twin Medusa blades. Her smile became mischievous; he would be offended by the term stealing. He always called it _a ‘forever loan.’_ What chance it was that had brought him into her life! It had started as an unpleasant scuffle and morphed into an uneasy alliance of respect. 

He continued to pop up when she resumed her slow journey across the continent. Without either of them knowing it, they started to look forward to their accidental rendezvous and one evening Chupa had confessed that the last three visits had been intentionally planned. When she’d decided to return to the land of her immortal birth, he had accompanied her. Theirs had been an unusual path to friendship, but once established, had become vitally important to both of them.

While there were no romantic feelings between them, there was a deep kinship and care. Chupa was a dedicated traveler and lived for his nomadic wanderings. He was never happier than slyly procuring items that caught his fancy and wrecking general havoc. Because of this, he had no place he would call home. Laura felt that her manor was the closest thing to home that he had ever had.

When she’d first come back and taken over the ruin, Chupa had just piled his items in a corner of her library and teleported back and forth. The pile rapidly became a mound, which became a hoard. One day Laura spent hours gently moving his treasures away from a bookshelf that she needed access to. She needed the book she was trying to reach right away; a fabulous treatise on the proper flower pressing techniques to harvest oils. After that experience, she’d suggested to Chupa that he could have his own room for his belongings, as she was afraid of damaging them.

Chupa had excitedly picked an unused ballroom. When it was halfway filled by the end of the week Laura had quickly clued into his intentions. She’d traded a century’s worth of creating soaps and oils to one of the lycan nobles and had another wing added on behind the ballroom. 

Her smile became misty, remembering his return a few weeks later and seeing the wing underway. That was when he had offered her the seeds. She recalled how casually he’d shown them to her, trying for off-hand but clearly anxious for a positive reaction. He’d glowed with pride at her excited appreciation. 

They’d spent several feverish weeks sprouting them, Chupa teleporting back in the evenings to excitedly chirp at the pots of soil with her and discuss techniques. The surge in growth of vegetation from exotic lands had finally pushed her into acquiring more planting space. She added acres of farmland by enlisting the help of some wargs. The juggernauts of the lycan clan and the most powerful creatures in the Blue Crescent Moon Kingdom, save the king himself, the wargs had no issue plowing them under for her. Their strength and talons made quick work of breaking the ground.

When she’d mastered her skills growing everything she had, she started adding fruit trees and grape vines. She’d tinkered with the harvests and spliced hybrid plants. Experimenting with strains and offshoots, she carefully teased out the desirable traits of flavour, pest resistance and hardiness. Over time, she’d perfected every strain and type of plant under her care.

She’d expanded the wings in her libraries for all the books she’d collected on how to make things grow. Another extension to house her journals on the subject, accumulated with notes, theories, results and dreams. Slowly her manor grew into a sprawling castle, although she liked to still think of it as a manor. Castle suggested a level of grandeur that Laura simply didn’t aspire to.

She had such hopes for it all, wishing for a day when she might establish some method of delivering her produce and education to humanity. It pained her to see the struggle of the peasants and villages around her. She’d taken up the habit of leaving carts of harvested bounty, smoked meats, soaps, oils and simple medicines at the homesteads on the edge of her territory. She started almost 400 years ago and now had contacts in every major town. 

Laura built a simple hut for merchants and traders to come to at the edge of her holdings. They would come with empty carts, unhitch their carts to leave for next month’s pick up, take the full cart and leave a bag of coins for her goods. The Brotherhood’s carts came twice a month. 

A few times a year she would take smaller sacks of goods and pouches of coins into the big city. Impoverished travelers along the way would wake to coins nested beside their pillow. Widows, orphans and lepers would find food, flowers and money suddenly appearing beside their elbow with a funny little blur or tangled in their cloaks in the morning. 

Laura shook off the memories. She was trying to settle from the emotions that Martha’s story had brought her, not feed back into it. Refocusing, she thought about how her plants would be doing. The alpine crocuses would likely die off in the next few days, but the lilies and hydrangeas should be just coming into their full glory. 

She had remembered to spread extra manure on the squash and it should be ready for harvest when she got back. The minerals in the watering pipeline were topped up, to make sure that there were enough nutrients to last until the end of next month. Her mind went to her herb garden and she nibbled her lower lip. 

Laura was fairly sure that she had over-harvested the spices, but she’d wanted to leave a great quantity to dry so she had some on hand when she returned. She was trying to compensate for the huge depletion of her dried stores from packing for this trip. They’d be eating an awful lot of wild game and vegetables on this trip and she had packed her spices accordingly.

 _I hope Chupa will remember the watering schedule,_ she thought, smiling fondly _._ He would; he was always very mindful of her garden. Her gardens were as close to having a child as she would ever get and he knew it. Once again, she felt lucky to call him friend. He was incredibly dear and loyal to a fault.

Laura realized she was still clutching the cake of soap and the water was cooling faster than she’d like. She started washing intently. She also did not want to keep Peter or Gabriel Belmont waiting longer than necessary, that would spoil the good impression she wanted to make.

 _Hmmph, impressions indeed,_ she thought, as her mind went to that initial encounter. The accidental revelations in his room had prepared her for someone vastly different than who she’d discovered. _You never can tell,_ she thought. Smoothing her disgruntled emotions, she took a moment to parse through it all for her unbiased first impression of him.

He was an imposing man, unusually tall and solid. Broad in the shoulders, chest and thighs, he still seemed well-proportioned from what she’d seen. She shivered, remembering the dense weight of him when he’d rolled over her. By the Gods, he was **fast**. He moved absurdly quickly for someone his size. _He seemed to be physically fit, but he would have to be_ , she reflected, _to be built like an armored warhorse and still have that level of speed_.

He seemed fearless, but not reckless. She respected that. She didn’t want to take anyone into the vampire court who didn’t have the sense to be cautious. At the same time, the Queen of the Vampires _would_ actually eat someone who cowered in her presence, so fearless was a boon. He’d been alert but not angry… well, until her foolish reaction. Laura couldn’t believe she’d allowed herself to be so riled by a few mocking words. She’d only intended to introduce herself and request he return to the Brotherhood immediately.

Her doll was only there to track and protect, not attack. But then Gabriel had moved forward and startled her. The doll only attacked when **she** was feeling threatened. _It’d only gotten worse when he’d been so insolent,_ she reflected _._

Laura hadn’t had a good handle on herself and things had gone sideways so quickly _. So,_ _not quick to anger or judgement until directly threatened?_ She pondered that. _Maybe, it was hard to tell._ On the other hand, if last night was an indicator, he was downright cheeky and that could be a big problem. He’d gotten under her skin, and she knew it was considerably thicker than anyone’s in the vampire court.

She placed the soap beside the tub and reached for the tall, slim bottle. Uncorking it, she poured out a chestnut-sized portion of the beige liquid. A fresh spearmint aroma spiked strongly into the room. As always, it soothed and invigorated her. She worked a lather up in her hands and soaped her hair. Her attention returned to Belmont. 

He had a decidedly rugged appearance, accentuated by shaggy brown hair that was in need of a cut. She would have said he didn’t seem to look in the mirror much, except he didn’t sport a beard and had only a couple of days' growth. That in itself was unusual. Shaving was a difficult, time consuming practice that most men did not bother with.

Not an overly attractive face, but nice enough. He certainly wasn’t hideous. _Hold on there Laura_ , she thought, _your_ **_unbiased_ ** _first impression._ She huffed and decided that if she couldn’t be honest with herself then she was just pathetic. **_Fine,_ ** _he was attractive._ She sighed grumpily. Truthfully, she liked his face. He had a strong jaw, aristocratic nose and bold eyebrows.

His eyes were grey or blue, but in the dim light she couldn’t be sure. They were expressive and open, with everything he felt written in them at any given moment. _Like hatred, disgust and anger,_ she thought dolefully. 

She couldn’t imagine being that fearless with her emotions. Her entire vampiric life had been learning to keep her emotions locked away so they couldn’t be used against her. It was hard to reconcile his cocky assuredness with those eyes. Harder still when coupled with the raw grief of his poem, the scholarly collection of books and what Peter told her about his world view.

But even more difficult was her physical awareness of him. It wasn’t necessarily desire, but she was aware of him in a sensual way. Laura was not a sexual creature; that was a part of herself which she’d believed was murdered centuries ago. Everything that went with sex was an unwelcome history she’d rather forget.

She was uncomfortable with the idea her body might find him attractive, and if that might lead to desiring him. Both concepts were completely alien to her. She deliberately skipped analyzing his mouth or the press of his body against hers when they fought. That was just a bad idea and led to a frustrating road of uncertainty.

It left her unsettled when she rose from her bath and dried. It worried her as she moisturized her skin and combed her hair, opting for a complex trio of braids that roped around her head. She selected her clothing with care, grateful that she had bothered to pack a dress. Laura rarely wore them; her hose and tunic combinations were more practical for the active life she lived. 

However, if she was going to try to repair the damage she’d done last night, she would take whatever edge she could. She knew that most people would consider the modified hose and tunics she favored downright indecent. To the small minded, women didn’t wear men’s clothes unless they were deviants. Gabriel didn’t seem to be that ignorant, but she’d play it safe.

She smoothed out the blue skirts and adjusted the wide, shallow neckline. She debated taking down her hair. Her shoulders and neck seemed quite bare, but she had brought no jewelry, she rarely wore any. Laura quickly dismissed the idea of taking the time to alter anything. She could feel that she was late already and was keeping them waiting. With her chin high and her resolve sure, she swept out of the room and towards convincing Gabriel Belmont to accompany her into literal hell.

\--- 

If I walk out the door, it starts our last goodbye  
If you don’t pull me back it wakes a thousand eyes  
Out the door it starts  
- _“A Thousand Eyes,_ ” FKA Twigs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm excited for the next chapter, things really heat up between Gabriel and Laura! Twitter @ ecastle_vania and look! I got the mood boards figured out! Whoo hoo!
> 
> The image of Gabriel Belmont is from Alienware Arena's public domain cosplay options. Copyright held by Dell Technologies.


	5. A Killer With the Perfect Weapons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura must convince Gabriel to accompany her to Carmilla's Foederis. Gabriel must convince himself that he doesn't want this vampire naked and riding him. Who's gonna win that one? More at 11.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Oh Gabriel, you look tired my dear! Can you join us for dinner, or do you need to sleep?” Martha placed an affectionate hand on his bicep and gently tugged him over the threshold, away from the heat of the late afternoon sun. An icy mug of cold water was pressed into his hand, and he drank deeply.

“Martha, you’re a _goddess_. George is not worthy of you. Come live with me and I promise I will bring you a nosegay every day!” Despite his exhaustion, despite his worry, he took time to look her over. As usual, she was the picture of energetic competence, all bustle and pink from the fire. Her salt- and-pepper hair was bound up and her eyes twinkled. She wiped her hands on her apron.

She gave an exaggerated batting of her eyes and responded, “Nice try boy-o, but I’ll not settle for less than three nosegays a day.”

He sagged comically against the doorframe, and slapped a hand over his heart, “ _Three?!_ I shall be alone forever.” When she nodded sagely, he broke into a grin.

This was a longstanding joke between them. Martha was old enough to be his mother. She and her husband, George, were fixtures in Peter’s household. They ran the house and grounds with efficiency and devotion. They’d always felt like family, having been his friends more than half his life. After his wife Marie had died, they’d grown closer. Peter had insisted Gabriel return to the barracks and take up residence in his home.

Martha had taken his nightmares in stride, cradling him as he wept in the dead of night and treating him to gingersnaps and light banter in the morning. Her empathy had been a healing balm when he’d finally been able to speak of Marie and what had happened. She’d been adamant about his blamelessness and was like a mule kicking his behind, when he wouldn’t forgive himself. She was the closest thing he’d ever had to a maternal figure and he adored her.

George was equally wonderful, answering endless questions about tanning, farming and horse flesh. He’d never questioned Gabriel’s constant haunting of the stables and farm yard in the first months after Marie. There’d never been a lack of work for him when he asked.

George seemed to instinctively understand Gabriel’s need to labor to the point of distraction and exhaustion. To get lost in mindless toil. Spending a full day training until his palms bled and his back wept, to muck out stables and tend horses significantly reduced the possibility of waking up screaming.

When he’d finally moved back into the barracks only three months ago, Martha had made it clear that he was still expected to come to dinner once a week unless on a mission. He had happily fulfilled the request. No one set a finer table than Martha. “Come, wash up lad,” she bade him. She gave him a delicate sniff. “You have time for a bath, which you desperately need.”

Gabriel gave a long-suffering sigh, “I really don’t think I have time to go all the way over to my quarters, haul water, heat it and come back for dinner, Martha.”

Martha had turned back to the table and stirred a steaming blend of meat and herbs. “And no one is asking you to.” Gabriel brightened, but she continued, “Take the back staircase and use your old room, the tub is still there. I am afraid it will be only lukewarm. I can borrow some of the water already heating but I don’t have enough for a hot bath. Oh, come now, no moping,” she said without looking up. _How does she always know?_ he thought with amazement, wiping the sulky look off his face.

She continued, “Let me call the boys, they can haul for you.”

Gabriel spread his hands and said, “I’ll just use the second-floor room, it’s closer for bringing the water.”

Martha turned and reached down for the bucket and tossed it to him. “No, you will _not_ , we have a guest there and she is sleeping. I do not wish to awaken her. She returned just before dawn this morning and the poor thing was exhausted.”

Gabriel immediately went on high alert, roughly tossing the bucket aside, “What guest. _Martha_ ,” his biting tone brought her head up. “What guest?”

She looked at him curiously. “From the way you are reacting, I suspect you already know. Lady Laura is here.”

That name was familiar but he couldn’t place it. _Wait, that’s right,_ he thought. _Any messenger from her comes straight to Peter, no exceptions._ He’d never met her and Peter never spoke of her except in brief passing. He suspected he knew her now though. “Is she,” he paused, aware of how insane this would sound, “a vampire?”

Martha was busy spooning meat into little triangles of dough, “Mmmmm? Oh, yes; obviously.” She twisted the ends of the little triangles together and deftly placed them in a flat pan.

 _Obviously? How is that an obvious thing?_ he thought with irritation. But his gut clenched _. She is here. She is **fucking** here._

 ** _Taste her_** _,_ the shadow voice suggested again, and he gritted his teeth.

“Why,” Gabriel growled and Martha looked at him with mild reproach, “is a _vampire_ in Peter’s home?”

She sighed, “Peter has not had a chance to discuss Lady Laura with you, has he?” She brushed her hands off on the apron again, and came back over. Martha was gentle when she touched his cheek. “Gabriel, we are _safe._ I know that this is hard for you to understand but she is not a threat and actually, has been nothing but lovely to me. I know Peter will explain everything to you shortly. Trust me and get ready for supper. She will be down soon.”

Gabriel wanted to argue this but knew better. There was no budging Martha on things like this. Frustrated, he picked up the bucket and headed out to haul water in for a bath he really didn’t want yet.

It was fortunate that he always packed one outfit more than he thought he might need. More than once it’d served him well. You never knew when you might inadvertently be sprayed with lycan blood or the entrails of a giant boar. He’d had one more squirreled away in his satchel, which had saved him from Martha’s wrath at wearing clothing scented like horse, sweat and dirt at her table.

His navy tunic was neatly belted over black pants. Force of habit and expectation of whom he would be meeting, had him add a bottled fairy and a silver dagger to the loops on the belt. Hardly dinner attire but he had cause. He already knew that Martha would never allow him his armor at her table and suspected Peter would feel the same.

He clenched his jaw. _They didn’t see her like I did,_ he reasoned. _She’s a **menace.** _He couldn’t believe she had been in the household over a day and everyone was still alive. If he was honest with himself, he also couldn’t understand why Peter would take such a risk. There was nothing to do but discuss it with him. Maybe yell at him.

He brushed his fingers through his damp hair and thought again that it should be cut soon. He would get to it one of these days. He took the back stairs, watching the receding sun spearing through the treetops before starting down. On impulse, he took the landing on the second floor and went down the hallway.

As he approached the closed guest room door, he smelled a familiar iridescent aroma, like a burst of fresh water poured over grass. Certainty washed over him. _By the teeth of the saints, it **was** her, _he confirmed _._ _The vampire in the forest was Lady Laura._

 _Laura,_ his shadow mind tasted her name with a soft lick. _Elegant_. _Sumptuous. It suits._

 _Seriously?! Who gives a damn; there is a vampire slumbering under Peter’s roof!_ Gabriel responded. Fists clenched, he stood motionless in the hallway, fighting all his better instincts. His reverie was broken by the sound of sloshing water. She was bathing. For an inexplicable reason, that made him catch his breath.

Positively purring, his shadow mind noted: _She is exposed._

 _Exposed to what?_ Gabriel replied. He wanted to tell himself ‘attack,’ but he knew he didn’t really want the shadow voice to elaborate. Knowing she was awake, thus his window for answers from Peter without her interference was dwindling, he turned and continued down the stairs. He’d worked himself into a fine mood by the time he’d gotten to the bottom of them. Finding Peter in his study, Gabriel stalked in, closing the door with barely-contained force.

Peter looked up and his warm greeting morphed into concern. “Gabriel! Whatever is wrong?”

“You have a fucking _vampire_ in this house, Peter,” Gabriel snarled. “A blood-sucking demon from Hell watching the inner workings of the Brotherhood and scenting out Martha and George for a midnight bite. _What can you be thinking of?!_ ”

Peter calmly put his quill down and turned his chair to face Gabriel. He indicated to him to sit, which Gabriel refused. He was too angry to stay still. Instead, the younger man paced over to the mantle, and leaned. “I’m curious how you ferreted out Lady Laura was here,” Peter said.

“I can smell her.” _Well, that’s **somewhat** true, _he conceded. At Peter’s skeptical look, Gabriel ground out, “Vampiric malice is easy to sense, you know that. This is beside the point, what is she doing here? What are _you_ doing?”

Peter looked as though he wanted to argue the point with Gabriel, but instead, he said, “She came to me for help. We’ve helped each other in the past. I have known her for over 40 years.”

That was not what Gabriel expected to hear. “You’ve _helped_ a vampire? Why?”

Peter nodded. “She’s been working with the Brotherhood for eons in many different capacities. It is an honor to have the opportunity to return some small portion of the aid she has given us.” He paused, “Continues to give us."

Gabriel took his chair and sat down. Bracing his big hands on his thighs, he leaned forward towards his old friend. “How long,” acid dripped from his voice, “has the Brotherhood been working with the very creatures it is sworn to kill?”

Peter sighed, “That is complicated, Gabriel, and not as devious as you insinuate. Lady Laura is uniquely positioned to be of assistance. She holds a highborn position in vampire society, but is not of the court.”

“This gets better and better. We receive assistance from a _vampire_ who is a highborn? We _trust_ aid from an influential figure in the Blood Kingdom?” Gabriel didn't bother hiding his disgust.

“She may surprise you Gabriel; she is not what you’d expect.” Peter sighed.

“Given our altercation last night, I think she is _exactly_ what I expect.” He spat out.

“What altercation?” Peter drew to attention, tensing in his chair, “Did you hurt her?”

Gabriel slapped the chair arm with disgust, “I’m sorry, _what_? Did **I** hurt **her**? No, although I tried. She took out a dark crystal demoness with lightning, Peter. I think your concern is misplaced."

“Laura used her _lightning_? Shit Gabriel, you must have pissed. Her. Off.” Peter looked incredulously at him, a rueful smile playing on his lips. “You _are_ rather good at that, when you put your mind to it.”

“ _Nice._ Can you please focus?” Gabriel tried for patience. “Peter, she attacked me. She tried to kill _me._ This is not the actions of a…creature who can be trusted.”

“Nonsense Gabriel, if she’d wanted to kill you, you would be dead.” Peter paused; expression thoughtful. The older man was tapping his toe and looked up as though to see if Laura would come through the floor. _Could she do that?_ the younger man wondered apprehensively.

Gabriel snorted derisively _. I didn’t have my combat cross. It would be different now,_ he thought. _I could take her._

 _Multiple times and in different positions,_ his shadow voice deadpanned.

He internally seethed. _Are you absolutely insane?_ _Not a fucking chance!!! She’s a **monster!**_

“I am interested in why you fought though. We’d agreed she would only locate you and ask you to come back. It’s not like her to disregard that.” Peter gave him a look suggesting that the fight was somehow his fault.

Gabriel felt like he was losing his mind. “ **Peter**.” He waited until the older man met his eyes, “What does she want?”

Peter nodded, “She needs a knight to accompany her to a summit that Carmilla called. In the Blood Kingdom, they call them a Foederis.* It is highly unusual for a meeting like this to happen. Even more so as the Queen has summoned _all_ the aristocratic vampires to the assembly. This has not happened in centuries.”

“And _why_ does Lady Laura want someone to come with her? Does she need a hostess gift?” Gabriel inquired; irony thick in his tone.

Peter snorted, “Ok, that was funny, but no. She hasn’t elaborated on that part yet, but the mission itself is critical. It cannot fail.”

He couldn’t stand sitting any longer and stood, stalking over the mantel again. “How critical?” Gabriel asked, not trying to disguise the disbelief in his voice.

Peter looked serious and braced himself on his knees, “Carmilla intends to move against Cornell’s kingdom and enslave all wolfkind.”

Gabriel outright laughed, a sneer on his voice, “That’s _absurd_. Pure fantasy. There is no means for Carmilla to do that and _no_ possibility it is true. Laura lied to you. What was her source for this information?”

Peter hesitated for only a fraction of a moment, but Gabriel seized upon it, proclaiming, “ _You_ don’t even believe it! Why would you possibly entertain this ridiculous claim?”

There was no hesitation now, “There is much neither you nor I know, or understand. _I believe her._ I trust Lady Laura implicitly. That may not be enough for you, but it is for me.”

Pent-up frustration had Gabriel yelling, “Peter this is _insane_! You can’t possibly trust a vampire. Especially one with such a dubious and obvious lie! Only a fucking _imbecile_ would accompany her on this outrageously fabricated and fraudulent mission!”

The door opened unexpectedly, and that rich, low voice tinged with humor swooped over him, “Ah, excellent, so you are going to agree to accompany me then?”

There stood Lady Laura; tranquil, bemused and self-possessed. She swept in, ignoring the terse hush and offering a small bow to Peter. “Suffer well, Peter. Apologies for not knocking but I feared it would be missed in all the bellowing.” She gave Gabriel a disparaging look.

Peter embraced her and asked her to sit. Again, Gabriel was struck by her height; she had to bend to give Peter a kiss on the cheek. She murmured a thanks for the bath to Peter. _So, it was her bathwater I stole_ , he thought. It was petty but he felt a small pang of satisfaction about that. Peter offered her a drink, and Gabriel started, _what the **hell**?!_— _oh, tea,_ he thought with relief. _Wait, **tea**?_ Martha was summoned and there was some discussion on what kind might be best. The details were lost on him.

Gabriel gritted his teeth. He knew his was staring at her, but he couldn’t help it. It was extraordinary how different she looked out of moonlight and shadows. Out of black armor, without weapons and magic. It was uncomfortable what simple firelight and ordinary clothing could do. _She wasn’t beautiful,_ he told himself. _Not even close. Her face was too unusual for that._

Her eyes were too really large; their size exaggerated by the white lashes and brows. It gave her a disarmingly innocent expression. Their color was fascinating, somewhere between the moss that grew by still water and leaves dotted in rain. They might be her best feature. _If any vampiric features could be considered good,_ he thought with resentment. Her eyes were animated, when the rest of her read as reserved. He could see her genuine care for Peter in them _. The care that a predator gave to it’s chosen prey_ , Gabriel sneered. He saw how her eyes locked down when she looked over at him.

Her nose was slightly crooked as though it had been broken at some point. That wasn’t unusual; she was a warrior after all, and that was a common issue. He couldn’t imagine why her regeneration power hadn’t repaired it though. Overly full lips that were borderline pouty; the impression only heightened by the deep bow of her upper lip and the wide crescent of her bottom lip. _Athena’s bow_ _against the curve of the moon,_ he thought and immediately rejected the poetry. _That mouth kills._

Her white hair was braided in a regal crown that suggested a halo. It was perverse that it made him think of angels. _How could a soulless fiend evoke such an angelic aura?_ He pondered. In the firelight her pale skin looked like the petals of a white tulip, flocculent and smooth. There seemed to be miles of it, mapped over her exposed neck, shoulders and the upper curves of her breasts framed in the rounded neckline.

 _Look at that collarbone, hmm? What would your teeth marks look like there?_ the shadow voice whispered.

Gabriel clenched his hands on the mantlepiece, sure that he would leave half-moon grooves. _By all_ _the saint’s souls,_ he thought, _he would not survive this without violence._ Her muscles were clearly defined under the tight sleeves and torso of the navy-blue dress she wore. It was unexpectedly basic with no decoration or frills. The dress molded to her outrageous breasts and just hinted at hips that matched in fullness, before flaring to the floor. If anything, she seemed even softer than last night; built for a man’s hands to stroke and caress while slicked with sweat.

 _Built for dim rooms with short gasps and long strokes_ , offered his shadow mind. For what must be the hundredth time that evening, he wished the beast would _just shut **up**_.

That softness, her innate strength and that unnerving confidence, challenged everything dominant and feral in him. He fought against it. He didn’t know why he was attracted— _that was a mess,_ he thought sourly—but he was sure that he could overcome it by the sheer fact of what she was. Nothing more than a soulless killer; an affront to the natural order and an abomination in the eyes of God.

Martha was sent away, and Lady Laura settled back. “Would that be agreeable?” she was talking to him, and here he was cataloguing her attributes like he was going to barter with a merchant to buy her. He needed to pay attention if he was going to convince Peter this was madness. Vampires are wily and he should know better.

Uncertain of what she was asking, he hedged, “I’m not sure I understand.”

“I said,” she was all patience, “I would appreciate the opportunity to explain the proposed plan and apologize for my actions last night.”

“Yes,” he raised one brow at her, “I would _love_ to hear the incredible details of this silly charade and how you might explain attempting to murder me.”

She and Peter shared twin sighs. She sat there, a picture of composure and calm, when she answered him. “I understand why you don’t believe me. Creatures of the night are not to be trusted and I certainly wouldn’t make an exception for a strange vampire that attacked me in the woods.” She paused, “Even if I attacked her first.”

“I did _not_.” Gabriel hissed, “Your lumpy toy man did!”

“ _No,_ you charged him, and he was just defending himself. If you weren’t so aggressive…” she scowled.

“Oh, that is _rich_! You sent your happy-stabby, murder doll in as a _test!_ You are just mad you didn’t get the chance to finish me off and leave my body for the wolves!” Gabriel glared at her.

“That is nonsense, I never intended—” her voice faded and her lips firmed. He watched her visibly work for self-control. It made him wonder what it would take to make her lose it. He wondered why he wanted to be there when she did; if he had some latent death wish he was previously unaware of.

Gleefully the shadow voice suggested maybe she would lose that control while she was riding him, and Gabriel’s scowl deepened. _No one asked you!_ Gabriel thought back, disturbed by its suggestion.

There was a knock on the door and Martha entered with a stoneware pot steaming with something citrus. She offered it to Peter, who poured a mug for Lady Laura. She gave Martha a warm smile of thanks; a maddening splash of sunshine from a creature that should only be darkness.

He tried not to watch the strength of her grip as she took the mug. Would her hand feel like velvet and steel as it wrapped around his… **_God’s teeth!_** What was _wrong_ with him!? If he couldn’t stop this, he was going to have excuse himself. For _pressing_ reasons. He was disgusted. Lusting after an evil creature like her was a sin. _I can master this desire,_ he thought with determination, _and shut this voice up._

“It doesn’t matter what was intended,” Laura said softly, demurely looking at the floor. “The point is, I am sorry.” She clasped her hands around the mug in her lap. “Whether you believe it or accept it, the truth remains that I lost my temper, and it was inexcusable.”

Peter cleared his throat, “Well, that is interesting.” Tensed, they both turned to him. He looked nonplussed and on the edge of laughing. “Why don’t you tell us about your plan, Laura?” he suggested. He was clearly biting the inside of his cheek.

“Right. Yes.” Her serenity fluttered back in place, like a bird settling into its nest. “Simply put, Carmilla has figured out a way to enslave wolfkind and intends to move against their king. I have this on excellent authority, someone whose word is more than enough for me to believe this to be the case. We don’t have enough information to determine how and when this might occur. This is purely reconnaissance, there will be no fighting and no confrontations.”

She paused and looked at Gabriel, as though she could will him into appeasement. “I need someone—Gabriel—to come with me to court. I need him to be my ears in the back rooms and during the side conversations. Discussions that I would not be privy to.”

Gabriel tutted, “Right, like _that_ is plausible. Why would they talk to me, when I am not one of them?”

“To be frank,” Lady Laura said, “I am ‘not one of them’ either. However, they are wary of me…of my, implied _status.”_ She seemed to shudder at the word, “No nobles will speak freely in my presence. They will however, speak freely in front of those they deem as…lesser.” She spoke the last word in a whisper, an offered apology.

Understanding lit Peter’s gaze, “Ah. I see. The classic blunder of the master of the house, speaking in front of the servants as though they don’t have ears.”

“Exactly,” Lady Laura smiled at him appreciatively, “I thought you’d understand.” She gave Gabriel an expectant look, and he just _knew_ she was going to say something smart, “Surely you have practice being a bumbling idiot?”

Her face was all virtue, but he knew when he was being mocked. “You assume I would be willing to.” His gaze would have shriveled an oak tree, but she just exhaled, like a mother about to discipline a child. She straightened her spine. The resolute set of her shoulders should have irritated him, but he found a grudging respect forming.

“Again, I must apologize. There is something about you that grates on me and I can’t help but be less than tactful with you. It is not my norm and, of course, it is at the worst possible time.” If Gabriel’s jaw could have hit the floor it would have. Her honesty was unexpected and disarming. The respect solidified and grew roots.

He found that he could do nothing but listen and consider. Bitterly, Gabriel wondered if that wasn’t the point, a key part of her game. Then she looked him in the eyes. He found himself hypnotized by those plush fertile depths. _Bestēme grénnes_ _,*_ he thought.

“It pains me to say it…but I need you, Gabriel Belmont. I need you to help me stop a monster from acquiring so much power that she would set the Blood Kingdom upon the world.” Her sincerity left him conflicted and behind her, he could see Peter nodding in agreement.

 _Are you actually considering this insanity?_ He asked himself. Gabriel couldn’t believe his own stupidity. “How will you explain my presence?” he asked her.

“Ah yes, that.” Lady Laura cleared her throat and set her mug aside. He noticed that she had only smelled it, but had yet to taste it. _Probably not bloody enough for her,_ he thought.

“Are you familiar with the term blóðlátinn or perhaps, blōþą ljúft?” Laura asked. Peter came to attention with a sharp inhalation. The terms sounded familiar to Gabriel and he thought he might have read about it somewhere. He understood languages, however. This was Old Norse and he could translate it. Taking a moment, he found the words and his gut clenched. He just knew he wasn’t going to like this.

“I know the literal translation is ‘that which has been bled,’ and ‘bloody love.’ If you are taking me as an offering to the court, then I will decline the dinner invitation.” He arched an eyebrow at her in challenge.

Lady Laura gave a small smile. “It’s a dinner invitation with no teeth. I am proposing to have you pose as my blóðlátinn. It’s one of the few vampire laws that cannot be broken by anyone, not even the Queen of Vampires. It’s a contract between a vampire and a human. The human agrees to be the sole blood provider to the vampire for a set amount of years. At the end of which, the vampire turns them. It was originally created to protect humans from other vampires, essentially marking them as property. More recently it’s been used as protection for thralls and vassals. Occasionally lovers, which is where the blōþą ljúft comes in. That’s a stricter contract, and I don’t think we need it for our purposes.”

Gabriel looked at Peter, who nodded silently. “So, the expectation would be that no one could hurt me without breaking this blóðlátinn contract? Because I would be your food and property?”

"Exactly.” Lady Laura looked pleased that he’d grasped it so quickly, “As I said, a dinner invitation with no teeth.”

“What about **your** teeth?” Gabriel asked, ignoring the shiver of anticipation from his shadow mind. _I don’t want her revolting fangs and neither do you,_ he told it.

 _Speak for yourself_ , the shadow voice replied.

“You do not need to fear my bite. I will _never_ use it on you.” She said it so simply and scrupulously that he found himself believing her.

 _What if I am wrong?_ It niggled into his consciousness. He pushed that thought away immediately. She was a killer, a bloodsucker, a _vampire_. There was no goodness possible in those creatures. It was better to be safe, cautious, distrusting.

 _Pot to kettle_ , his shadow mind murmured and it reminded him of duty. Of what had been sacrificed for duty.

He swore silently, knowing he would regret the words he was about to speak. “ **Fine.** I will go with you.”

 _What are you doing?!_ He admonished himself soundlessly, already wishing he could take it back. 

She inclined her head to him ever so slightly, “Thank you, Belmont, I will endeavor not to antagonize you unduly. We will need to leave tomorrow night and make haste; it will take us a couple of fortnights to arrive at the castle. I know it will be inconvenient, but we’ll have to travel at night and rest during the day.

"I have some rules,” Gabriel stated, desperate to feel like he wasn’t succumbing to some vampiric spell. He paused, _Actually, that would explain **a lot** , _he realized. He opened his senses, looking for magic use and became aware of a number of things.

1) Peter was there. He’d completely forgotten about the older man as he’d verbally sparred with Laura.

2) Laura was equally unhappy with this situation. Her tension was palpable. Which was odd, given this was her idea, after all.

3) Unbelievably, she wasn’t using or projecting magic.

4) When she was angry her smell ripened, like burning sage. It was intoxicating and alluring.

 _Is that what she would smell like aroused? Exposed, drenched and eager under his mouth?_ His shadow mind queried.

This trip was a **terrible** idea, it would be a perverse version of the temptation of Christ. _But there is even a chance that she is right and Carmilla was actually attempting what was being suggested?_ He thought, _I have to do this._ The shadow voice was going into a box and Lady Laura would be the monster she was. That is all it should take, as long as he stayed focused. He realized she was looking at him expectantly, waiting for his rules.

“No killing of humans, for any reason.” She nodded, and with his infrared senses he could _feel_ her acceptance in the steady pulse of her undead heart. It was puzzling that she would agree so immediately, but he had other priorities. He could always kill her if she didn’t abide by it.

“No private meetings without me.” Her flinch was so slight that he would have missed it had he not been so open. She nodded again, and he had to wonder whom she’d been hoping to meet with privately.

“And uh, no, being unclothed when the other is around.” _Did...did, I just say that **out loud?**_ He thought incredulously, _what am I, fourteen again?_

“I can agree to that wholeheartedly. I will respect your privacy if you respect mine.” She said demurely. He thought he caught the trip of her heartbeat for one moment but he must have imagined that.

“May I make one rule of my own?” she asked. Gabriel finally sat down and he leaned forward, nodding his acquiesce. “You must _never_ challenge or argue with any of the vampires, especially the Queen, no matter what is happening. It would be a death sentence; for both of us.”

Gabriel managed a laugh, “I’m not an idiot.” He shook his head in disbelief. _How dumb did she_ — she was still staring at him, waiting for him to agree. _Hey fuck you, Laura,_ he thought.

 _Yes please,_ his shadow voice chimed in _._

He was now willfully ignoring it. “Obviously. Yes. I would never do that,” he said. “There would be no reason.”

“Then we are set.” She leaned back, picked up her mug and sniffed her tea, “I suggest you rest tonight and pack for the journey. Make sure you have something to wear for court; let me know if you don’t.”

Peeved that he was doing the exact thing he thought was pure stupidity, he snapped, “I’ll find something that won’t smell like decency and integrity.”

All refined poise, she said, “I imagine that won’t be hard for you.” She looked him straight in the eye, raised a brow and smelled her tea. He felt a smile tug at his mouth; a flag of appreciation for her clever and swift mind. He actively resisted it, annoyed that he should appreciate anything about her.

In a treacherous whisper, his shadow mind betrayed him. _God’s breath, he wanted to taste that smart mouth. To shut her up with his lips, teeth and tongue. To find out if there was as much heat in her kiss as her words would suggest. Or would she be all serene frost, like her demeanor?_

 _Don't think that! I hate her! … Remember?_ He thought furiously, as they started to discuss preparations.

Hours later he returned to his room, stumbling into the pale light streaming into the space. Dinner had been agony and he was well on his way to being smashed; a result of a poorly thought out means of coping with his shadow mind and its never-ending observations about Laura. Most of which left him profoundly grateful for the cover of the dining table.

He knew several things about her now, but perhaps the most disarming was her obvious love for human food. It was bizarre, he’d never read or seen anything to suggest that vampires had interests in distinctly human habits. Everything that had been served had a small sample placed in front of her. She had sniffed everything appreciatively, commenting on the spices used or the presentation. Martha had just glowed with pride. The random things she knew about it too, like mushrooms _._ The two women had discussed _mushrooms,_ for almost 20 minutes.

He didn’t want to acknowledge that it has done weak things to his stomach to watch her mouth. She would close her eyes, part her lips to inhale the steam wafting off the food with her pink tongue extended slightly to taste the air.

_He wanted to conquer that mouth. Discover what she tasted like and plunder until she was gasping. Then plunge inside her. What would she feel like? All that abundant softness; hot, wet sheath of desire holding him close. Hard nipples sliding against his chest, writhing hips grinding down on his cock as she took him inside over and over and over and…_

_Good **God** , what is happening to me?! _he thought with horrified shock. He kicked the side of his bed and sat down heavily, head in his hands. He was genuinely appalled at himself. He’d never had such a visceral reaction to someone; never experienced such immediate desire for anyone _,_ much less a _literal_ spawn from Hell _._

He told himself it was a spell, a glamour. Even if he couldn’t detect it—for the first time in his life—that could be the only reason he was hard just _thinking_ about a fucking vampire. _About **fucking** a vampire, _he thought, feeling ill. This was a test; it has to be. He whimpered. He swore he could still smell that vibrant, sparkling fragrance; even here, in his own sanctuary. He couldn’t escape her. How was he going to survive a month? 

_What have I done?_ he thought with despair.

\--- 

A wraith with an angel's body.  
A demon with a smile of gold.  
You soul-sucker.  
I won't become like you.  
A killer with the perfect weapons,  
Crystal eyes and a heart of coal.  
You soul-sucker.  
I won't lose myself in you.  
Look how pretty she is, when she falls down.  
Now there is no beauty in bleeding mascara.  
Her lips are quivering like a withering rose,  
She's back again.  
\- “ _Bleeding Mascara_ ,” Atreyu   
(The instrumental version is equally badass!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Bestēme grénnes = decidedly wet green/green liquid determination  
> * foederis = literally, ‘meeting’
> 
> \---  
> Interested in what exactly happened at dinner? Well I wrote it for Promptober, "I Guess You're Just What I Needed," and you can [read it here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26769424)


	6. Between Light and Nowhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if Lady Laura was right? What if this was the only chance to prevent a supernatural war that would spill into every home and village in the country? What if this is the only chance to see if those legs go all the way up?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warning**   
>  _I just wanted to elaborate on the warning in the tags. Gabriel will be thinking about the loss of his wife, Marie and the guilt he has around that after Laura's perspective. If loss is a hard subject for you, you might want to skip it. Because I believe strongly in properly warning people, you'll see these additional warnings along the way on different chapters. Take care of yourself!_

Laura sedately bid Peter and Gabriel good night, and ascended the stairs to her room. Once she was at the landing, she _tore_ down the hallway to her room. She barely stopped herself from slamming the door shut behind her. With shaking hands, she tried to light a candle and failed twice. Finally, she just sat on the floor with her knees drawn up and her face pressed between them.

She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself. _Gabriel Belmont had storms where his eyes should have been._ They weren’t grey, they weren’t blue and they were eating her **alive.** Belmont’s eyes swirled pearl froth, crashing sodalite waves and seething lead clouds. She could have sworn lightning would come out of them next.

He _hated_ her. Everything about her revolted him. He couldn’t be clearer then if he had embroidered it into his tunic. He stared at her constantly _,_ a half-sneer on his lips and his hands clenched. When he spoke to her it was only to deride her for her vampiric nature, her intelligence, her naiveté, her bloodthirst. His hatred chipped away at her hard-won poise and dredged up all her own conflicting emotions about herself.

It was going to be an incredibly hard month. She had serious reservations about how this was going to work, constantly sharing her personal space with someone who despised her. She knew she could endure anything but… She bit her tongue thinking about the things she would have to say before entering the castle—for both their safety—and say it to those seething orbs. _You have four weeks before you have to_ , she thought.

To make things worse, his attitude had gotten more belligerent as the night wore on. She was pretty sure the wine he was downing at an astronomical rate wasn’t helping anything. Peter had made no mention of a drinking problem, and Belmont seemed perfectly lucid the night before. It was possible he’d just misjudged how much he had consumed, but still, she made a mental note to ensure that no alcohol was packed in their supplies.

Despite her misgivings about their clashing personalities, she knew Belmont was the right person for this task. His fighting prowess had been excellent in the forest and he’d been without his primary weapon. His intelligence and education, when he chose to display it, was incredible. During dinner they had discussed strategy and she’d described the layout of Carmilla’s castle. He asked a thousand questions.

As the conversation progressed, it was clear that he had built a mental model of the entire place and was working out the defensible weaknesses, hiding places and escape routes. A castle that spanned three leagues mapped out, _in his mind._

While they were trying to figure out what Carmilla’s stratagem might be, Peter had asked her some questions on the current treaties between the Blood Kingdom and the Blue Crescent Moon Kingdom. If she was honest with herself, Belmont’s answers were much more elaborate and informed than hers. She considered herself well-versed, but he seemed to have the ability to recall _exact_ information that he’d read or heard. Of course, this is exactly what was needed for this to be successful.

Even when discussing supplies, he’d impressed her. During the conversation on what medicinal herbs had been packed, he’d explained a poultice made with white willow. It was practiced in the east and she’d never heard of it. It was supposed to reduce fever _and_ pain, and was allegedly faster and more potent than her peppermint and black elder recipe.

When she’d expressed concern that white willow was not readily available in much of the countryside, he’d explained that meadowsweet contained much of the same elements, and could be substituted. Although not as effective at the pain management as the white willow, meadowsweet could actually be used for the digestive issues that frequently accompanied fever. She considered herself well-versed in herbs, and he’d stunned her.

Against her better judgement she found herself returning to the impression she’d gotten from his room. Here was the man who fascinated her: mysterious, thoughtful, intelligent, sensitive. _Herbs are your soft spot, don’t look too much into this._ She reminded herself. _Also, **fascinated** **?** That seems excessive._ _He gets under your skin, that makes him annoying, not fascinating._

The point was that there was great potential between them for a reasonable, polite association. Or would be, if all her attempts at cordiality and respect weren’t met with that thunderous glare. It rankled her something fierce and she couldn’t help return it to him with defiance and provocations. _Which is **so** helpful in establishing the peace, Laura, _she sighed. She really shouldn’t blame him for being suspicious. She’d done herself no favors with the incident in the forest. And she was a vampire.

The whole Blood Kingdom ensured that no one would ever just trust her. _Still, if he wasn’t such a complete boor about it…_ she thought with annoyance. She shook her head. _Lots of ground to make up either way if actually you want this to work,_ she thought. _You will need to work with him on that attitude. It could make real trouble in the vampire court._ Standing, she lit the candle and stirred the fire. She stretched her muscles and looked around. She noted that Martha had tidied her bath and made her bed.

She was enchanted to see a tiny clutch of purple flowers by her pillow. She pounced on it like a rabbit on a clover and brought them to her nose. As she’d suspected, it was violets! She put the flowers back on her pillow, and went over to her bags by the wall. She knew she’d overpacked, but she’d wanted to be prepared for anything. _And I was!_ she thought happily.

Several minutes of searching brought her the satisfaction of locating one light purple bar of soap the size of her two hands stacked on each other. Its smell was the same as the flowers. Mood lifted and triumphant, she shrugged off her dress and slipped into a forest green tunic and mustard yellow hose. It was one of her favorite outfits, like wearing a reverse dandelion.

She threw her navy cloak around her neck and brought up the hood. Slipping the soap into the pocket of her tunic, she crept down the stairs like a shadow. In the kitchen she placed the bar of soap by the kettle, where Martha could not miss it. She really did like the woman, and briefly entertained a lovely fantasy of friendship between them. It could not be.

Women like Martha belonged in the light, and Laura’s life was nothing but darkness. Still, it was nice to think of it. She had no female friends, and half the time forgot she even had a gender. Sharing something as fun and feminine as excitement over pretty flowers and floral soap was something she never got to do.

Rousing herself, she started around the table. It was later than she’d meant to be and she had much to do tonight. She swept out the kitchen side door, careful to latch it behind her. Drawing her cloak around her face and body, she clung to the shadows along the barracks wall. Peter’s home was very close to the outer wall, which made it easier for her to come and go without encountering any knights. There could be awkward explanations if stopped, especially if Belmont’s reaction was any indication of the usual attitude for the Brotherhood knights. She sighed. Being a vampire was hard if you weren’t interested in hurting anyone.

\--- 

Gabriel could not sleep. His room held no peace for him. Haunting notes of an aroma that was both delicate and strong seemed to ghost around the room. If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn that Lady Laura had been in there. Sobriety and the incessant nettling of his shadow mind had done him no favors either. He was tormented by disgust, desire and resentment. He couldn’t _believe_ that this was even an issue for him.

He was seriously rethinking his ability to commit to this, but kept coming back to the what ifs. What if Lady Laura was right? What if this was the only chance to prevent a supernatural war that would spill into every home and village in the country? _What if this is the only chance to see if those legs go all the way up?_ _God’s teeth, Gabriel, she is a **murderer,**_ he thought with disgust.

He didn’t want her, and he didn’t want to think of her. Gabriel damn well wasn’t going to sleep at all tonight if he didn’t get out of here. With an irritated huff, he threw back the covers and pulled on his clothes. After a moment’s consideration, he pulled on his armor and the combat cross. With her around, he would never be without a weapon again.

Gabriel paused at the door, unsure of where he was actually going. _What would refocus him, calm him down?_ He wondered. He glanced towards his writing desk and thought that maybe he should just work on writing or reading something.

If he could have seen his own face, he would have been gutted to see the transformation when he saw Marie’s portrait. Everything in him smoothed out for one moment of pure contentment, before knotting back up like uncarded sheep’s wool. Loss, guilt and lingering dread slithered in his stomach as though he had swallowed a pit of snakes. But his mind was quiet on Laura, and that decided him.

He moved through the barracks, down the stairs and out into the night. Gabriel debated a horse but decided to go on foot. When the knight passed through the front gate, he waved at Simon, who brusquely elbowed Paul awake so he could wave too. Gabriel saw Paul say something to Simon that resulted in a punch on the shoulder, and then he was past the gate.

The road stretched in front of him toward the unseen village he knew was nestled in the hills, about two leagues away. The moonlight washed the landscape in a blue haze, as though he was peering through a fine weave of cloth. While he knew that nothing was as ever as peaceful as it seemed to be, he felt calmer out in the open. The smell of Laura had faded away and he opened his mind into the night.

He wore too many accoutrements to have the truly freeing run that he would like, but he would still enjoy a run. He knew the way to Marie well, having travelled it a thousand times in his life. He started at an easy jog and quickly gained speed. Soon he sprinted down the road, eating up the miles and saw the big old oak, dripping with Spanish moss and gnarled limbs. He paused to catch his breath under it’s gentle sway; enjoying the burn in his legs and the deep-seated constricting and releasing as his lungs worked to draw air and to live.

Night runs were one of his favorite things, and had been since he was a boy. It was as close as flying as he could get and an escape from all his problems, uncertainties and raw realities. He could leave all questions behind. The doubts that crept constantly, burrowing and twisting in him. _Why didn’t my family want me? Why can’t I stop doubting everything? Why can’t I just trust in God’s plan?_ _Why can’t I be grateful and be happy? When will I feel like I understand? What is **wrong** with me?_

The random trees crept up into a wide swath and forced him to slow down or risk tripping on a root. At a slow jog, he approached the thicket beside the brook where Marie rested. He took a deep breath and his good mood slid into contemplative despondency. The simple stone that marked her grave lay nestled in the crook of a weeping willow, branches trailing in the bubbling water.

Her family had been unhappy that he chose to rest her out here, and not in the familial plot in town. He hadn’t bothered to explain himself; this place was sacred to him and it was theirs. They’d played here as children, talked here as youths, and made love here as husband and wife. For him, there **_was_ **nowhere else she could have rested.

He approached Marie softly and sat down beside her, hand extended to brush the rosemary that he’d planted over her grave. It grew wild and strong, a symbol for his fidelity to her and his remembrance of her. Gabriel held his hand up to his nose and inhaled the scent into his nostrils. A bittersweet longing dug its claws into his Adam’s apple and he bowed his head. He took a moment to pluck a few errant weeds that had pushed up between the daffodils nodding against her headstone. The daffodils were her favorite flower and a reminder of the scent of their home together.

It pained him that he didn’t have the knowledge to duplicate her own scent; it had been warm, comforting and welcoming. Sometimes he got hints of it in baking bread and fresh linens, but it wasn’t the same. Knowing he would never smell it again was an open wound that he constantly stuck his finger in.

With a stuttering breath he laid down over her, pillowing his head beneath his arm. While he didn’t feel calm, his shadow voice was quiet. Marie had always done that for him. He missed her **so** much. He told her in the language they’d used for endearments, that he’d taught to her here under their willow. “Tu m’as manqué mon amour,*” his voice unsteady as he spoke quietly to her.

He knew that angels existed and watched over people. If anyone was an angel, it would be Marie. If God was merciful, she would be listening right now and would be able to hear him. Gabriel took comfort in knowing that if she wasn’t watching today, maybe she heard him last time, or would next time.

Fingers stroking the grass, he told her he was sorry he had not come to see her for a while. He told her about his struggle to stay in the world, to speak to God, to feel alive again. About the shadow mind inside him and how he wished he had talked about it with her before she’d died.

Distressed, he told her how loud it was now that she was gone and how it made him feel less human, less connected. In a halting whisper, he told her how his shadow voice wanted Laura; while his humanity was repulsed by what she was and disgusted by the devastating attraction he felt for her.

Voice breaking, he told her how he was afraid it was a sign he was losing his mind. How he’d senselessly agreed to go on this mission. Was he doing it because it was the right thing to do? Gabriel was afraid he didn’t know what the right thing to do was anymore.

Although there were no forthcoming answers to his questions, he felt she would understand. Gabriel told her again, just like every time, how sorry he was that he couldn’t protect her. How he wished he could take back her death. That he wished it had been him, that it should have been him. Finally, he could not speak anymore but was plagued with the incessant questions.

_Why God, hadn’t it been him? When would the tests ever end? Could he bear them anymore? Why did devotion have to mean so much suffering? What kind of God rewarded those who could suffer all things?_

As always, he ended up in tears, quiet tracks of grief that watered the grass. _At least they were good for something,_ he thought. He sat up and scrubbed his face with his hands. _God’s knees, he needed sleep,_ Gabriel thought with a sigh.

\--- 

Laura had found the bear cave by accident but it was the perfect place for her to leave her kill. The bear could use the nourishment and the townsfolk would not discover a corpse with distinctive puncture wounds and no blood in it. From the smell of the cave, it was a mother with cubs. For once after a meal, she felt surprisingly pleased as she walked away from the mouth of the cave.

The night was gorgeous and bright; the wind gentle but fresh. She felt called to run to the ends of the earth, to spread her mind open to oblivion and beyond. Ruefully, she shook her head. She could wish for that all she wanted but it was not possible. She would not shirk her duty and she would not abandon the world to the schemes of the Vampire Queen.

Her smile dropped at the thought. _No, there was no where anyone could run, that Carmilla’s venom would not eventually reach,_ she thought with a shudder.

 _She could face the court,_ she told herself. She could face the Master if she had to. Her body gave an involuntary jerk and she swallowed. _No, you can do this,_ she thought _. Don’t think of it now. You will face everything and everyone soon enough._

Determined to cling to the gorgeousness of the night, despite the mutilated face of the looming past, she tilted her face up to the moon. _The moon has scars,_ she thought, _and she is strong, brilliant and beautiful._

Unsolicited, the words of Belmont’s poem came to her, “ _But I can’t forgive what I have done. I don’t know if I ever will._ ” She closed her eyes against the sting she felt, for both herself and Belmont. She didn’t really believe that he might empathize with what lay in her past, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he might understand.

 _Laura, are you joking?_ She thought with alarm. _You thought he hated you now, just **wait.**_ She heaved a heartfelt sigh. No, some things were better left under the stairs, packed in a coffin and nailed shut. Turning towards the barracks, Laura accepted that she needed to get back to re-organize her belongings and make a list for Martha to gather and prepare items for the journey.

She quickened her pace, following the edge of the brook as it broke through the trees. It would lead her to the side of the fortress that Peter lived on. From there she would mist over the walls and make her way through the back door. Her natural pace, moving light and fast, brought her back towards the castle in a matter of minutes. She was virtually soundless in her passing. She could smell wild rosemary and pepper with a hint of coriander. She instantly thought of Gabriel Belmont.

A scant second later, she came around a delicately draping willow and there he was. He was sitting with his profile to her and had his head in his hands. He fiercely rubbed his face, and when his hands came down, she was appalled to see utter and abject misery carved into it. He’d clearly been crying, rivulets of clean skin cut through the dust on his face.

Her eyes flew to the stone laid in the ground behind him, daffodils and rosemary growing around it. _Rosemary for memory and fidelity, daffodils for rebirth,_ she thought. The headstone had a simple cross. _Marie Belmont, cherished in life and death,_ was carved into it.

Every instinct Laura had, _screamed_ at her to leave before he saw her. This was clearly his wife’s grave and he had come to mourn her. She did not belong here and her presence would not be welcomed. She would even say it was hideously disrespectful, given their tension and arguments. He must not see her. Indeed, doing so might result in his refusal to go with her.

She took a quiet step back and then another. She’d made it three steps when his eyes flew up and twin, chaotic storms pierced the night. She sucked in her breath and watched every emotion possible move over his face. “ _I am **so s** orry_. I didn’t mean to intrude,” she offered to him softly, mortified for both of them and waiting for the storm to break. “I didn’t know you were here; that she was here. _I swear it_. I will go.” Backing away slowly until he couldn’t see her, she turned and fled.

\--- 

Hope there's someone  
Who'll take care of me  
When I die, will I go  
Hope there's someone  
Who'll set my heart free  
Nice to hold when I'm tired  
There's a ghost on the horizon  
When I go to bed  
How can I fall asleep at night   
How will I rest my head  
I'm scared of the middle place  
Between light and nowhere  
I don't want to be the one  
Left in there, left in there   
-“ _Hope There’s Someone_ ,” Antony & The Johnsons

* Tu m’as manqué mon amour = I missed you, my love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Antony’s voice is quite literally both their souls crying out into the night.  
> ___
> 
> Want a little sweetness to settle that heart ache? I wrote Gabriel's poem for Marie on their wedding day for Promptober 2020. [ Read 'I Thee Wed,' here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26787088)


	7. with lungs miniature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I deliberately kept this very abstract. This chapter explores Laura’s experience with the Master and being a prisoner through non-specific references. I reworked it several times because it is obviously terrible but I do not want it to be triggering or titillating. If it is too hard/uncomfortable to read, skip to the author’s note at the end for a sanitized summary.
> 
>  **I am listing all the triggers as specific warnings applicable to this chapter only** : suicidal ideation (no methods described), implied past rape (no details/descriptions), imprisonment surroundings, non-con (no descriptions of acts), torture (no descriptions of acts), degradation (no descriptions of acts), miscarriage used as a metaphor, implied mental illness, self-harm (some descriptions), violence & gore (minor descriptions), rats metaphor, blood drinking (minor), unhealthy and non-con dom/sub relationship (overarching theme no specific examples).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was happening again. That twilight space in her mind where she was asleep, but aware of her surroundings. She needed to wake up but couldn’t make herself do it. At least she was pretty sure she was asleep. What, that couldn’t be right…where was she again?

Time. What was it here? No windows, no doors. There was only when the Master was here, and when the Master was gone. When things would be done to her and when they stopped. She would be tested and, after her sire left, she could finally break.

Naked, filthy, and manacled to the bed, she looked at the room that had been witness to her torment for an infinite span of time. She looked _through_ the room to the prison that would never cease inside her mind. The mirrors only reflected an eternity of her confinement. She could not see herself; she did not exist.

There was no time here. There was only the wait. The hope that she might someday be free of this. Free from herself. She was beyond wishing for death. Even in death, the Master would follow. That was how she became a vampire. It was the cruelest trick possible that her bid for freedom would bind her _eternally_ to the Master.

Laura belonged to the Master by blood birth and her death was theirs to decide. She understood that now. Understood that everything she was, was created by the Master. Everything she ever wanted, was crushed under the will of the Master. Yet still she hoped, still she hated. And the Master would come with a new trial.

Time deceived her. She fought. She thought that the strength in her immortal body might deliver her to her freedom. But everything inside of her had come from the Master. There was no misting, no lightning and no spell that her sire didn’t already have. That her sire couldn’t miscast and return to Laura one hundredfold.

There was no strength or ability in her body that could overpower the Master. She couldn’t even mist out of her silver shackles; they chafed, burned and interfered with her abilities. Laura fought until she realized that was what the Master wanted. She stopped, but always, the Master wanted more. Sometimes she couldn’t stop fighting, struggling, pleading. Laura’s wrath continued to burn, to build and feed her. Waiting for release.

Time could not break her. She did not know how she resisted surrender. She did not know how that last bastion of hope held out. The hope was so small, but it would not snuff out. It was not strength or will; it was hatred. There were days she wished the hope away, wished the hate away and pleaded with herself to submit entirely. Maybe then the Master would leave her alone, lose interest, _finally_ kill her.

But most days she embraced this bitter, mutilated creature of hatred that nested within her ribcage. When the Master came, it would flare up into a shield that would somehow, miraculously, protect that tiny flickering hope. It burned, blistered, and peeled and there was always more Time.

Time lost meaning. She’s endured things in that room that have driven her screaming and crawling outside of herself. She’s felt agony that made her want to stay out of her skin forever. She felt shame that she carried with her always. It disassociated her from her body until she couldn’t stand to feel her own skin.

The curse of immortality ensured that she would heal within hours and there was no end to the creative ways she could be hurt without permanent damage. She did not know how a body could hold such pain. The Master delighted in this. There were so many ways her vampirism could be turned against her, used to crush her humanity into pulp and fed back to her. She could not escape her flesh.

The room became her womb, and she was the stillborn captured in the space that had birthed her. It now bore witness to her death. Who Laura had been; the identity, the personality, was annihilated in that room. A new Laura was rising up. A Laura for whom the feel of velvet meant she needed to leave her body for a while. A Laura for whom degradation became a constant companion. A Laura for whom a smile was a prelude to impending suffering. This Laura became an animal, feral, fearful and alone. She was always alone now, even when she was with herself.

Every time she was taken from the room by the Master, she was afraid. Stepping out of it was like a thousand rats clawing out from under her skin at once. The court could see her submit, watch her with gruesome covetousness, and savour her helplessness like the sweetest blood. Everyone knew what she was, how she was kept, what was done to her. Her sire loved to show her off because the court could only look, never touch. No one could have what only the Master owned, what would only ever be possessed by the Master. To try, would be certain death.

Her floating voyage of sleep and awareness solidified into memory.

Laura knew what was coming, and knew that she might not survive. Her only wish would be that it would be quick, but if death would be hers, she would endure anything. She looked at the creature in front of her, and wished it would just be done.

“I consider myself a brute, a monster.” Cornell, King of Wolfkind smiled at her, fangs jutted into his upper lip and gleaming predatory. He was a giant of a man, all his human features lost under hair, teeth and bestial mannerisms. His colossal bulk moved with lupine grace. “I’m not a good person or a nice person. So, don’t be confused. I want to rut you, that was not a lie, but I have political interests that go far beyond a casual fuck. I believe it would be in my best interest to not offend you, and to skip that aspect.”

Laura couldn’t believe what she was hearing. This was a game, a trick, another attempt to fracture her. _He wasn’t going to hurt her?_ she thought, confused. _He was going to free her?_ That flicker of hope was still alive and it wanted to believe. Deep inside, she knew that there was nowhere she could go that the Master would not find her. But this would not be the first kindness she had been shown today, and it seemed that miracles were possible. She kept listening.

“I’ve been waiting for this opportunity for a while. Subjugation is one thing, but slavery of any kind is abhorrent to me.” His massive shoulders moved restlessly, “Caging the beast will always sit poorly, no surprise. Something about breaking the spirit, destroying the wild thing.” He offered her a wolfish grin.

“But you are not broken. Much more importantly, you’ve been privy to more than you know.” He spread his hands. “I’ve watched you for decades now and bided my time. There are two things I know for sure. No one hates your sire like you do, and no one has suffered like you have at your sire’s hands. As we both know, that is saying something.”

He watched her. Her face must have told him he was right because he went on. “You are a chess piece to me, nothing more. Do not be mistaken; I may not like what has been done to you, but I am doing this for me. I will want something from you in return for this. I will hold it as a blood oath. Anything, _anything I ask_ , you will do it, whatever it may be. Really think about that before you agree. It could be your life.”

Laura didn’t have to think about it, if it was only her life. She would have given anything of herself to be free. But it wouldn’t be possible. “The Master will _never_ let me go, ever.”

“Leave that to me.” Cornell shrugged, “It took me a while to figure out but it is a surprisingly simple ruse. In fact, it has already begun.”

“I have two conditions.” Laura said, standing up to look him in the eye. She didn’t miss the way his eye flicked over her naked body. Nausea rolled through her. She hated her flesh; it was nothing but a festering wound that was used against her. It wasn’t even hers, it belonged to the Master.

“Conditions are not an option for you,” he chuckled, “however, I have to admire your attempt. It can’t hurt to hear it.”

“I will not turn anyone into a vampire. _Ever_.” Laura made herself hold his gaze.

Cornell looked surprised. “That is a condition I can actually agree to. I will never have a need for that, so I will never have to ask you for that. Granted, what is the other?”

“You can never ask me to…serve anyone like I have the Master.” She could barely get the words out.

Cornell’s eyes flashed, and he snarled at her. “I told you, what has happened to you disgusts me. Your suffering should have broken you completely. I would not offer escape, only to force a return to the same captivity.”

Laura’s laugh was more of a sob. She could only nod. Cornell waited for her to take several breaths and quiet herself. “I don’t mean to be rude Cornell, but I need your word. I don’t know you, but you are known to honor your promises. You will never ask me to serve you, or anyone else, like _this_.” Laura watched his face, waiting for the answer.

Understanding lit his eyes. “You have the word of the Man-Beast.” Cornell inclined his head.

“We have a bargain then.” Laura nodded and slashed her palm with one sharp nail. She offered it to him.

“Agreed,” Cornell took her hand, surprisingly formal, before licking his palm in acceptance of her blood oath. Laura had been very careful to remove all memories from her consciousness when she’d pressed her palm to his. She never wanted anyone to ever see what she’d endured. What she’d done. What a monster she really was.

“I believe you to be a woman who will honor her promises,” he said calmly. “As such, you will remember that taking your life would be breaking your word here. Death will have to wait for you until we are done.”

“As long as the Master does not come after me and I can truly be free? Death is not my aim.” She swallowed the lump in her throat, and crossed her arms in a poor attempt to cover herself. “I have much to atone for. It will take all the time I will have.”

He looked thoughtful, “I don’t understand atonement and guilt at all, but I would think whatever you have done you’ve paid for a hundred times over.” Laura did not respond. She did not expect him to understand.

He shrugged, then hesitated, “For my plan to work, this will have to be believable. I will have to hurt you. You will have to smell like me.”

Laura stared at him, suspicious. _Was this all some sick game?_ She wondered.

He pierced his palm, extending the blood to her. “This is what your Master must see, what they must think and why.” Laura swiped her finger over the blood and brought it to her lips. “I’m sorry,” he said, so simply, that she believed him.

She put her finger on her tongue, and rocked back. The images were horrifying, but not anything she hasn’t seen before. Laura had seen worse, and has had worse happen to her. It shocked her that Cornell was not excited by what he was proposing to do to her, and it made her bold.

“The Master suggested that they may not want me, after we are done here.” Laura watched his face with the calm wariness of a feral cat. “You are counting on that. You say you do not want to offend me, and your blood showed me that you do not want to hurt me in this way. I would purpose, for both our sakes that you do not.”

“There is no other…” Cornell started to say, and Laura shook her head slowly.

“It is the smell and the blood.” She said softly, “That would be the only way the Master would know. And my wounds of course. Only you can produce the smell, but the blood, and the wounds? I can do that to myself. I would prefer it actually; it is the least I can do for you.”

Cornell looked at her curiously, “That level of injury you would be required to do, that is something you can do to yourself?”

Laura partially extended her talons into black daggers of tension and malice. Eyes on Cornell, she impaled her torso and dragged down. Her eyes watered and she withdrew her claws. Her own blood pattered on the stone floor.

He winced. “I see that what I have heard about your captivity and witnessed myself doesn’t begin to touch the surface. I don’t consider myself a queasy beast, but that is hideous. You should get on the bed, we need the blood spatter there. The servants will talk and it will be an important detail."

Laura nodded and followed him into the space. Kneeling on the furs she looked at him. "This will ruin your bed, are you sure."

His grin is cruel but edged in a sympathy she cannot believe might be for her. "I have no issue hunting new ones and we cannot afford suspicions."

Laura closed her eyes and turned from him, “I will do the damage, you take care of the other. I won’t look.” Eyes still closed, she extended her claws again. She picked another spot, higher up. She would have to cut deeply to make ensure that the scars would still be visible when the Master arrived. The pain made her eyes water further, and she let the tears come. It would make it more convincing. She tore deeper.

She doesn’t want to remember this. She didn’t want to remember when Cornell showed up at her home and claimed her blood oath mere weeks ago. When he told her that she had to go back, and she had to face the Master. _Not to serve, thanks be_ , she thought, _but to listen and to prevent_.

She knew that the cause was just, his reasons sound, but this was supposed to be behind her. This should not be hers to remember. This happened to someone else, a Laura that doesn’t exist anymore. She left that Laura at court, to die within the castle of the Queen of the Vampires. She is Lady Laura now, co-founder of the Brotherhood of Light, gardener, vintner, farmer, soap maker, **anything else.**

 _But you are keeping the word of **that** Laura, aren’t you?_ She reminded herself. _You didn’t really think you could just continue forever without returning? That you wouldn’t have to face **that** Laura someday?_ She was a fool. _What other ‘Laura’ is there? What other ‘Laura’ could there be?_

Like overturning a chest of linens, it rippled and tumbled into her. She saw herself standing in Gabriel Belmont’s room. The curiosity on her face as she looked at pictures of what people who weren’t her could be. Wondering who Gabriel Belmont might be, when he touched someone else like these pictures suggested.

She saw herself watching Gabriel Belmont’s expressive face in Peter’s home, and being fascinated by the passion inside of him. Feeling the quiet ruin of his heart as he wept, desolate and alone over the grave of his wife. Contemplating what it would be like to be touched by someone with such capacity for feeling. Wondering who Gabriel Belmont might be, if he touched her. Who _she_ might be if he touched her, and what might happen if she touched him back.

She leapt at _that_ Laura with both hands, wading through the heavy fabric of her memories to the safety of this loom of possibility. If it was possible for her to have even a hint of sensual interest, she was _not_ the Laura she used to be. Even if it was strange and unnerving for her to be attracted to Gabriel Belmont, it was a sign that true change **had** happened.

There was a difference in her now, even if she didn’t do anything to act on it. It was enough that it just was. She could carry it back into that godforsaken building and hold it in her ribcage; pulsating with the knowledge that she entered a different person than she’d left. That she hadn’t just survived, she’d grown.

She could use it to shield herself, add it to the armor she would wear. She needed to be prepared, strong, resilient. She could not break, not now, not after everything that she’d become. _I am not who I was all those centuries ago,_ she thought and knew it was true.

She felt calmer. It was undeniable. However unintentionally, Gabriel had shown her that. And he would be with her in this court of nightmares. He was a presence to excuse her from participating in the blood rites, the hideous orgies, the weighted hooks of speculation and questions. Help her to bear the stares that told her, **we know what you are.** _But they won’t know, not anymore,_ she thought with wonder _. For the first time, I can acknowledge that perhaps they never did._

If someone like Gabriel could survive a loss like what she’d witnessed at the riverbanks, and still complete this mission, then so could she. Everything she knew of him confirmed that he was a man of integrity, a man who did the right thing no matter the cost. Even his hatred of her confirmed his decency, his certainty that evil such as hers, must be guarded against.

If he could find it in himself to be brave and face the horror of the vampire court as a human, then she could be brave and face the Master. If she needed the encouragement of his company to do it, well, who could fault her. If his presence made her skin tingle in awareness, that was something only she needed to know. If she wondered what his fingers on her skin might feel like, she could keep that to herself.

She had no intention of doing anything with these thoughts. Still she touched them with hesitant fingers, marvel overriding disgust. Her flesh could _feel_ again. Could she be brave in other ways too? Could she?

\--- 

I’ve been thinking that I should see someone  
Just to find out that I'm alright  
By the morning I would've grown back  
I’ll escape with him  
Show him all my skin  
Then I’ll go. I’ll go home  
I used to dream of adventure  
When I was younger  
With lungs miniature  
Good now with killing  
Our brain cells  
Is this called living  
Or something else  
By the morning I will have grown back  
_\- “Amsterdam,”_ Daughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Summary: Laura is half asleep and remembers abstract details of her imprisonment, mostly how she felt, what the room she stayed in looked like, how the Master liked cruelty, torture and humiliation (no examples). We become aware that the whole vampire court knew about her imprisonment and condoned it. She remembers a specific memory of Cornell, King of Wolfkind approaching her with a plan to free her in exchange for information and a blood oath for sometime in the future. We realize that he has called that blood oath in, which is why Laura is headed back to the vampire court. The chapter ends with Laura realizing that if she has sexual interest in Gabriel it’s a sign that she has changed and will return to court as a new person. She decides that she can be brave and face her fears about returning to the site of her captivity. She wonders if she can be brave about other things too.
> 
> *****Please note: For the Castlevania Promptober 2020, I wrote from the perspective of Death on Laura's meeting with Cornell and some of the events leading up to it. If you are interested,[you can pop on over here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26806717) Mind the tags on it, as I do give some details of her abuse. thanks!*****


	8. Lovely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first night on the road is filled with questions and discoveries. When Gabriel discovers he's assumed too much, will it open his heart to Laura?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first evening is tense. Gabriel is not accustomed to travelling at night for extended periods and certainly not in the company of something he’s always killed on sight. _Well, usually killed on sight. Didn’t happen when you saw her, did it?_ he thought _.That’s how you are in this mess._

He is uneasy relying on Lady Laura’s directions but is unable to do otherwise because she is the only one of them who has ever been to Carmilla’s castle. He constantly reminded himself that Peter trusted her and has apparently done so for over 40 years. That had to stand for something.

Gabriel gave a silent prayer of thanks for the full moon that only ended two nights ago. As a result of its fullness and the clear night sky, there is a fair amount of light to illuminate the way. They’ve travelled in a poignant silence, only just broken by Laura’s announcement that they will need to make camp soon, as dawn is only a few hours away. They are close to the Lake of Oblivion but have yet to pass that first landmark on their journey.

He has thought a million times about the scene at Marie’s grave. Each time he isn’t sure what he feels about her seeing him like that. He is confused about her respect in the moment and her silence in broaching the topic since. It is a level of consideration he had not expected and is not sure he can truly believe.

The blistering dream that he had last night had done nothing to help his confusion, and only made him more on edge. That his inner defenses could have succumbed so quickly to his attraction is infuriating and repulsive. He is haunted by the way his name had sounded when her voice was laden with desire, and even more so, by her challenge that he be honest with himself. The only good thing about the dream is that the shadow voice had subsided, happily fed for the moment.

Although he has had to clamp down hard on his attraction, it is more manageable tonight and he felt more in control. Gabriel’s natural inclination to distrust vampires has returned and more than once he has wondered just what he is doing out here.

They dismounted and Laura explained that she will do some quick scouting for a suitable camp site. She must have read his blank look correctly because she gently reminded him that she must sleep where the sun cannot touch her. Feeling foolish; _hadn’t he just been worrying about travelling with a vampire_?—Gabriel can only nod. She disappeared without a sound and returned almost immediately and just as quietly.

Laura has located a shallow cave at the mouth of a small stream. The Dead Bog was riddled with them. She asked him to accompany her to inspect it, in case there is an inhabitant that they need to handle together. Gabriel started to sneer at this, _you’re a vampire_! Then he remembered the beast of a cave troll that had tormented the village nearby, and was finally killed only a fortnight ago.

 _Ok, she might have a point_ , he thought. Cave trolls are vicious and the day has been long. Gabriel dismounted and led his horse and the pack horse after Laura and her mount. Stopping about 40 paces from the black mouth of the cave, they tied the animals beside a fallen tree and advanced on the darkness of the gaping maw.

He is deeply aware of Laura’s nose quivering subtly as she scented the air, her lips parted as her tongue hid just behind her lower lip. Her fangs gleamed in the pale light. He suppressed his shudder, but mentally reminded himself he’s basically escorting the epitome of killing, perfected. _And I know nothing about her,_ he thought with resentment.

“I cannot smell anything suggesting an occupant,” she said. Laura went into the cave’s darkness and her walk is all unconsciously rolling hips and miles of leg. He watched her move and just _loathes_ himself. He was still trying to get use to seeing her like this. It was not helping that he has now dreamed of those legs naked and wrapped around him.

When they first fought in the forest, he hadn’t been paying attention to her clothing. She’d worn a dress to dinner and a skirt leaving the Brotherhood. They’d only been away from the fortress for thirty minutes when she’d abruptly stopped, dismounted and started to strip off her armor. He wouldn’t admit to himself that his reaction hadn’t been just panic. There had been a distinct edge of enthusiasm in his gruff exclamation that he just didn’t want to explore.

“What are you doing?!” He’d protested, alarm creeping into his tone.

“Oh, calm down, I hate riding in a skirt, and I certainly don’t intend to fight in one. Hopefully that need won’t arise.” She gave him what could only be a stink-eye.

“You’re just going to do that here? In the middle of the road?!” He didn’t know why he was surprised.

Her hands went to the neckline of the riding gown and he’d turned away. She’d snorted in derision, “I _am not_ naked under here, I have other clothes on.”

He’d still been slow to look back out of self-preservation, and she had already finished unfastening the riding dress. Now she was working her arms out. Underneath it, she had a tunic the color of ripened berries and hose that matched her eyes. It was true that she wasn’t naked, but her body teased him anyway.

The arms of her tunic were stuck in the dress sleeves and pulled the raspberry linen taut against her breasts. Every twist and shimmy highlighted her ludicrously large breasts and the peaking nipples pushing against the fabric. He knew the size of his fingers; he could pick up skulls with one hand. _Her breasts would **still** spill out, _he thought _, soft, plush and unbearably erotic. Her nipples would press into his palm, checkpoints of desire on the map of her body._ He cursed the dream for giving him an entirely too realistic sense of what that would feel like.

He offered to help her, not because he wanted to get close— _right?_ but because he wanted that traitorous line of thought to end. He’d yanked the sleeves off her and unceremoniously dumped the dress in her arms. Her sharply fresh scent had whirled around him and he gritted his teeth. Riding horseback semi-aroused would be a miserable experience.

She’d scowled up at him, “Ow!.. I _guess_ , thank you?!” She rubbed her arm and folded up the dress, stuffing it into the packhorse’s bags. She’d reassembled her armor and donned it before they continued on.

Gabriel is brought back to the present by the silence. He can hear nothing, not even the rub of her armor or the creak of the connective leather straps. It is unsettling. Everything in him tensed, expecting an ambush, whether from her, or something else he does not know. Her unnatural eyes glimmered from the inky maw of the cave, and she stepped back into the pale moonlight.

“It is empty, if a bit damp.” She stepped closer, hips swaying. “There is room for your bedroll on one side if you so wish. There is a tight but deep crevice, that I will wedge myself into. It’s the safest spot for me.”

Gabriel is taken aback and blurted out, “You’re going to sleep upright? In wet, cold rock? How do you fit a blanket in?”

He didn’t expect her laugh, especially in what is obviously genuine amusement. He certainly wasn’t ready for the sound of her chuckle, which is whole-hearted and bright. If he is surprised she laughed, she seemed to be too, even more so. Had she not intended to, and it just happened? Was it odd that it was so disarming? He almost returned her smile before he is jolted back to the present by her fangs.

Now front and center, their sharp points are pressed into her pale lips as an unmistakable insignia of the dark. _No, no, no we are **not** getting friendly with the bloodsucker, _he warned himself. _That’s a sure-fire way to never wake up._

“Ah… yes, it won’t be my favorite sleeping spot of our journey, but I promise you, it’s certainly preferable to an agonizing, flaming death.” She paused, “Well, preferable to _me_ anyway.” Gabriel felt this suggested he might want her to die like that, but he couldn’t decide how to handle it. 

“Cold and wet seems like an easy second place,” he returned and the moment of humor passed.

As they bedded the horses down in the darkness, she told him that she will go hunt. He flinched at her words and whirled around. All his instincts were clamoring. He _knew_ his first thoughts about her were right. “What?” he snarled, “I’m not going to let you do that!”

She stepped back, startled by his vehemence. “I beg your pardon; I didn’t realize that you didn’t eat meat. You did at Peter’s…But that is fine, I will…”

He cut her off, “No, you certainly will _not_. What you call meat, I would call neighbor. I told you, I won’t tolerate undue death on this journey.”

Understanding dawned on Laura’s face. “You thought I meant… _human_? _Good lord_ , **no**! I apologize, I thought Peter told you…that is, I thought you knew…I don’t prey on humans.”

He looked at her, startled but also doubtful, “Ever?”

She flushed, startling him. He didn’t know vampires could blush. How **do** vampires blush? Was this a normal thing? Nothing in the training texts or his travels suggested that this was possible. Then again, why would anyone write about that?

She looked him in the eye for the first time since their initial meeting and he forgot about the blush. It was dark out but her eyes seemed to _glow_. He thought back to his initial speculation if they actually did or if it was a trick of the light. He looked closer; it seemed to actually be something she was physically manifesting. Perhaps because she had his full attention, or because he was looking directly in her eyes, he could see the anguish there when she answered him.

“I’m deeply pained that I _can’t_ say that. There was a time, when I was first sired, that I did drink from humans. While it was a very long time ago and I stopped as soon as I was able, it doesn’t change that I did prey on people. I am a murderer.”

Despite himself, he was impressed by her candor. He remembered Peter, _“She may surprise you.”_ The shadow voice in his mind reminded Gabriel that he should also claim the mantle of murderer. He immediately put the voice in a box and slammed the lid on, struggling past the disgrace and grief. He could only hope to be as sincerely forthright about it someday, but this was not the time or place. Certainly not the audience.

“How long ago did you stop drinking human blood?” he asked, quietly subdued by his own internal battle.

She blinked, “About 800 years ago, give or take.”

Gabriel’s suspicions roared back. “You haven’t drunk _blood_ in **800** years? How are you alive? What have you been eating? Aren’t you _hungry_?”

She gave him a sad smile, tinged with that grief again. “I have not taken anything from a _human_ body in 800 years. I am alive because I continue to attempt to make amends for what I did, and what I am. Yes, I still drink blood, because I have to, but it’s animal blood. Yes, I thirst all the time, it’s my constant companion. You find you can learn to live with anything if you have to. “

She turned and grasped her saddle, wiping it down in nervous, erratic movements. This was the first time Gabriel had ever heard of a creature of the night, much less a **vampire** , eating animals as a preference. It certainly was the first time he’s ever heard a vampire express remorse. Still… “If all vampires could just drink animal blood, why hunt humans?” he asked her.

Laura finished wiping down her saddle and turned back to him. “Belmont, please try to understand. This is a **choice**. I make it because it matters to me. I am not going to tell you that animal blood is as good as human blood. It’s not. Imagine the finest wine you can, and casting it aside to ingest the leavings of a chamber pot. It’s a huge difference. I am fighting against the most primal instincts I possess.”

Her gaze held him as surely as her hands would, and she continued, “Furthermore, it significantly diminishes my range of abilities, the strength of my powers, and the speed of my regeneration. Simply put, I am a lesser _vampire_ for this choice. And that’s before factoring in the thirst that is a constant torment.”

It humbled him and he didn’t want it to. It rung true to him and he resented it. He didn’t want to trust it because it went against everything he believed about vampires. It made a complex situation thornier. It was easier to dismiss her as simply evil, and merely a means to an end. It seemed impossible that she would make this choice every hour, every day, every year, for 800 years.

He struggled to find the lie in her words and came up wanting. It echoed with authenticity, delivered frankly and riddled with nuance. It would explain Peter’s regard for her and why he dismissed Gabriel’s concern she might hurt anyone. She was disarmingly forthright and seemingly without the guile and seduction he normally associated with highborn vampires. Despite all his training and his better judgement, he found he believed her.

“What did you intend to hunt?” he finally asked her.

“The usual,” she responded, “rabbit, deer, the occasional muskrat. I don’t usually hunt predators. I hunt every night. I must drink frequently because the quality of my sustenance is poor.” When he didn’t react, she continued, “I try to space out the size of the animal that is felled, but hopefully you can handle a good volume. I use as much of my… my…,” she fumbled on the word, “ _kills_ , as I can. It is disrespectful to the life I’ve taken not to at least try to utilize as much of the flesh as possible.”

Despite himself, Gabriel was intrigued. “That is an interesting term to use, disrespectful. This suggests that you think animals, their lives, are worthy of respect?”

“Of course! Don’t you?” Her look could only be termed incredulous, and she met his eyes again, shining emeralds in the dark. “All living things should be respected. There are many tangible and intangible threads that connect all of us to each other. Haven’t you ever seen a creature and felt touched by its presence? Maybe you’ve seen an animal do something that struck you as profoundly noble, something you’d only have expected from a person?”

Gabriel thought about it. “I have seen a fox give up his life to lead a predator away from his den. His mate and their pups were inside.” He was more receptive to the memory than he’d thought and fell further into it than he intended. It was unwelcome, the staggering emotion that welled up. Quietly, he started to tell her.

He’d forgotten this emotion, what he had felt watching the intricate dance between the fox and the werecat and finally realizing the reason behind the utter insanity of what the fox was doing. At barely nine years old, he had known he could do nothing to help the fox. A werecat was a formidable opponent to a grown man and no match for a child. He’d had a lump in his throat following the chase for almost ten minutes; watching the fox start, stop, twist, feint.

The lump had turned to tears when, despite being in the lead and possibly still being able to get away, the fox turned to the werecat and simply laid down. It calmly surrendered so that there could be a future for its pups. It had been an incredible lesson in what a parent could be. _Something I will never know now,_ he thought in the present, the realization like a knife in the gut.

Gabriel had returned the following day with the intention of burying whatever the werecat had left behind. He’d had a sick ache in his heart all night and had to do _something_ to ease it. He discovered the mate lying beside the corpse, gently pawing at it and softly whimpering. At Gabriel’s appearance, she’d leapt up, snarling and charging. No matter what he did, she refused to leave her fallen mate. It had been an incredible lesson in what a family could mean. _Something I had and destroyed,_ he thought, the knife twisting painfully.

Reeling the flood of emotion, Gabriel spoke into the present without thinking. “It was more than I’ve known some people to do. People who’d leave their own flesh and blood on the church doorstep because the child was an inconvenience.” He immediately regretted it. God’s tongue, he had not intended to say that.

He _never_ spoke about the circumstances under which he came to the Brotherhood of Light. Certainly not to strangers. Especially strangers who were vampires. 

Something in his voice must have betrayed the pain underscoring his words because her response was delivered in a completely neutral tone, “Sometimes one wonders who the true animals are, does one not?”

Gabriel was grateful to her for not pressing an issue he had no desire to discuss. He cast about for another tack to re-route the conversation, “I have read about cultures that believe humans are spiritually connected with animals. They believe that some of the people actually _have_ animal spirits inside of them.”

“I have encountered that too. That belief is far more common than we would think. Especially in the more remote territories.”

Laura bent down and retrieved a stick from the pile they’d gathered for the fire. She looked up at him, “I had the fortune to live amongst the Legae for a time. They are a small nomadic tribe that lived in the heavily forested mountain ranges of Scythia. It was they, who actually gave me the name to something I’d already inadvertently been practicing.”

She started tracing figures in the loose dirt. “This is what it would look like written out in Greek,” she looked up again. Gabriel saw _πλάσμα στριμμένο_ written in the ground at her feet. She stood. “It’s pronounced ‘plásma strimméno.’ Roughly translated, it’s ‘creature twined.’ It’s a fascinating concept and is of course, very complex. I was not privy to the inner workings of their spiritual practices because I was an outsider.”

She gave him a half-smile, “I know you’ll probably have questions, but I do not wish to pretend I fully understand what the belief and practices mean. It would be disrespectful for me to attempt to. Simply put, **my** ‘plásma strimméno’ means that I acknowledge that _any_ life I take in order to keep my own has meaning. Because it has meaning, I do not end it lightly or without respect. Part of respect is to try not to waste any part of it.”

He is not sure what possessed him to say the next part, and he wanted to take it back as soon as it is out, “Some people believe that the spirit ties are so strong, the person can actually take the form of the animal they are connected to.”

Laura offers him a small, somewhat strained smile. “I cannot speak to that. I have never experienced a spiritual animal connection myself. I _have_ witnessed many shapeshifters and transformations, but they all seem supernatural in origin.”

It seemed as though she wants to say more, but instead, dropped the stick in the dust and straightened up. She looked above his head before lowering her eyes again. “This conversation is very interesting and I don’t want to bring it to a close. However, daylight is coming. Neither of us have eaten. I need to go hunt.”

Gabriel looked at her and then the sky before answering, “Will you bring the animal back here then?”

She nodded. “Alive or dead?” he asked.

She looked at him, clearly disconcerted. “It will be dead. There is no need for it to struggle or be afraid. Furthermore, I have no intention of subjecting you my, um, uh, _dining habits_. I feed where my quarry falls and then bring it back here. We can share the task of preparing it, or I can leave you to your devices.”

Gabriel wanted to argue; he would go with her. The reminder of her hunting plans has caused his reservations to return. How could he be _really_ sure that she wasn’t going to hunt people and just bring him an animal to appease him? Again, he was struck by how little control he had over this whole endeavour and felt his anger flare. If it wasn’t clearly so vital to the Brotherhood’s mission, he would have consigned this whole farce to the devil and likely killed Laura.

 _No **, it** , the vampire, _he corrected himself _. Don’t think of her **—it** , as a person. She could be just saying what you want to hear. It would be a mistake to trust her at all. _Brusquely, he nodded. “Agreed.” She looked at him for a moment and he had the uncomfortable sensation that she could hear his inner dialogue about her—ugh, **it**. He was going to have to work on that.

With speed almost too fast for his eyes, she shed her armor into a pile that was neatly stacked by the fire. She slowed to a ‘rushed human’ pace as she shook out her cloak and folded it, bending over to lay it on the pile. Straightening, she stretched towards the sky. She was nothing but a muscular and voluptuous shadow against the firelight, light seeping through the linen and outlining _everything_. His gut clenched as the generous curves of her breasts and buttocks lifted enticingly when her stretch deepened. 

_Would she arch under him the same way?_ Gabriel caught himself and looked away, irritated with her for such an obvious ploy. More than anything it reminded him that vampires were all tricks and ploys. He wasn’t even going to acknowledge the stab of arousal he felt watching her. He reminded himself that seduction tactics was a highborn vampires’ bread and butter. He was _not_ going to fall for it.

“I will be back shortly. Suffer well.” She said, turning before he stopped her with a low murmur.

“What does that mean, ‘suffer well’? You are always saying it.” He asked.

“Oh, I apologize,” She looked contrite. “It’s a second nature to me. It has many meanings. It’s a greeting and a goodbye, but also a mild oath, like Gods teeth or,” she paused, “shit. It’s used by the creatures of the night as kind of a catch all. I can try to remember not to use it, if it bothers you.”

“It’s fine, I was just curious.” Gabriel had suspected, but it was nice to confirm it wasn’t just an idle threat. She looked at him a moment longer before slipping into the darkness like embracing an old friend. He watched her meld into nothing before turning back to the packhorse to unload. He’d retrieved all his items from the horse, removed and stored his armor and unrolled his sleeping pallet by the time she returned.

After much debate, he has decided to sleep in the cave, but has aligned his pallet right against the opening. He is as far away from the back, where she’ll be pressed into the rock, as he can be, and still be in the cave. Gabriel located a clutch of potatoes in one of the sacks, scrubbed them off in the stream and was in the process of quartering them when she appeared in front of him, holding a small pheasant.

“Merciful Lord!” he exclaimed, surprised by her sudden arrival. He had not sensed her coming at all, which puzzled him. It wasn’t until later that he realized that she’d approached with no malice. He simply could not sense the supernatural when there was no intent to harm.

“I’m sorry!” she said immediately repentant, “I should have approached slower and louder so you would know—"

“Forget it,” Gabriel grumbled, cutting her off. “Can you pluck that?” he asked, gesturing to the bird.

“Of course.” She crouched down a respectful distance away, and a good distance from their supplies. In another blur punctuated with multiple eruptions of feathers, she rendered the pheasant nude and returned to his side, holding it out to him.

He took it without looking at her. He was extremely conscious of the limp dangle of its neck, which was very broken. This seemed unnecessarily brutal to him, given that he can clearly see the killing blow— two round punctures at the base of its neck. _She’s a monster_ , Gabriel reminded himself _, they have no gentleness or care in them._

“Can I assist in any other way?” she inquired politely, “I have some spi—"

“No.” He said flatly, interrupting her.

“As you wish,” she said and went over to the stack of supplies. She pulled out her pallet roll and a large black sack. She unrolled the pallet about 6 feet away from him and turned her back to him. She is close enough to say that she’s still in the camp with him but far enough that neither one could doubt they have their own space. With her back to him, the message is crystal clear.

Gabriel can’t stop his lopsided grin and hid it by peering down at the dinner he is preparing. It was perversely pleasing when she displayed her exasperation with him. _Good,_ the Chosen One thought. _I don’t want to be friends_. When he looked up again, she has moved the black sack onto her pallet, and is busy retrieving items from it. She gathered a smaller grey bag and some clothes from it. She tied both up and turned back to him.

“I am going to go down the stream a little way, just far enough that you can’t see me. I would like to take a bath before supper.”

“You are going to take a _bath_? In the cold creek?” Gabriel didn’t know what he thought she was going to say but it definitely wasn’t that. “And then get in the cave? Where it is also wet and cold?” He suddenly wasn’t worried about her vampirism; he was seriously concerned about her sanity. Clearly, he was out here with a madwoman.

The knight could swear that the corner of her mouth started to curve into a smile but it was gone when he blinked. “Yes.” He waited but she didn’t offer anything further. Not willing to break the silence, Gabriel simply motioned with his hand for her to go and once again she melted into the night.

\--- 

I hope someday I’ll make it out of here  
Even if it takes all night or a hundred years  
Need a place to hide, but I can’t find one near  
Want to feel alive, outside I can fight my fear  
Isn’t it lovely, all alone  
Heart made of glass, my mind of stone  
Tear me to pieces, skin and bone  
Hello, welcome home.  
\- _“Lovely,”_ Billie Eilish, feat. Khalid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the longer than normal gap in posting. I am participating in the 2020 Castlevania Promptober and its been a ride! **If you are interested in reading the VERY sexy dream Gabriel had,['In the Name Of,' it's right here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26854222)**
> 
> Promptober had really stretched my writing abilities. I have learned that writing full chapters every 12-18 hours is exhausting lol. I'm looking forward to staying on my 3-7 day stretch for Carmen Relinquo from here on out. Thanks!


	9. Phantom Bride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions remain high between Laura and Gabriel. When the explosion comes, Laura is surprised to find more consideration and understanding in Gabriel than she would have thought possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laura wasn’t at her best this evening. It had been freezing cold in the cave, and the dampness had seeped into her bones. She felt ancient, and every inch a cold-blooded creature. In her shadowy world of dripping water, waking dreams and murky dark, she’d been aware of Belmont getting up and moving around. She hoped he was getting some sunshine. Constantly living in the dark would be a hard adjustment for someone of the light, and she needed this to go as smoothly as possible.

The quiet whicker of the horses, shifting clink of metal, rustles of cloth and scrapes of wood and dirt had started her wakening. But it was the low humming that reached out and welcomed her into the dusk. His voice had intrigued her from the start with its musical lilt and unusual cadence, so she should not have been surprised by the fact it translated well into singing. Melodic and deep, he alternated between half-crooned words and actually singing.

She didn’t recognize the song, but caught the gist; heartache, inevitable attraction and the sweetness of a woman’s kiss. He was speaking to the horses about the trip ahead and crooning how they were such good beasties when she slipped from the deep fissure in the rock. When she bit off an oath at the creakiness of her bones, he’d appeared at the mouth of the cave, his gracefully massive silhouette framed in the deep shade of twilight.

“I’ve eaten and packed up camp. We need to get moving," he said shortly and moved out of view.

 _Good morning to you too, Belmont_ , she thought, glowering at the space he’d just been occupying. She took a deep stretch, rolling her hips and shoulders, working out the cramps and stiffness. Laura stretched her hands out over her head, and something popped in her lower back. That was definitely better, but she still wasn’t looking forward to another full day of riding.

“The night has fallen; we don’t have time for your dallying.” He called out brusquely.

“Ok, that’s _it,_ you jackass,” she said, through gritted teeth. She marched out of the cave, prepared to do battle and realized that he was gone. The pack horse was gone. All that was left was her horse, her pile of armor and her satchel.

Laura went ballistic. _Of all the obnoxious, aggressive, boorish displays of dominance!_ She thought, utterly outraged. In a whirlwind of movement, she stripped, dressed, armored herself, and packed. She was attired, items stowed, and mounted up in less than four minutes. The vampire gave silent thanks to the Gods that she’d slept with her short swords, or she’d be defenseless.

 _He was going to pay for that,_ she thought with anger. _Who did he think he was?!_ The idiot didn’t even know where he was going. That gave her pause. She didn’t know which direction he’d gone in, but she could solve that quick enough. Laura summoned the flavor she’d stored from her sampling of his hair, and instantly arrowed in. He was actually headed in the right direction, moving at a medium pace less than two miles ahead of her.

She urged her horse as quickly as possible, temper making her reckless. Laura cut through the trees, the moonlight as her guide. Branches caught in her hair, and slapped her in the face as she thundered up behind him. The pack horse spooked, but fortunately Belmont had tethered it to his mount. “You pus-filled, mealy-brained, diseased reject of hell!” she shouted at him, squeezing past him and the startled horses. She wheeled her own mount, yawing dangerously before coming to a halt in front of him.

“Good morning.” Gabriel said calmly, looking at her in bemusement. Gods he was so smug, she couldn’t stand it. She reached over and yanked the front of his armor, intending to dump his righteous ass into the mud.

Instead, she found her arm twisted sideways, and was dragged midway into his lap at an uncomfortable angle. Blazing with fury, she extended her claws, and he shook his head warningly. “I wouldn’t do that, Laura, you’ll just have to apologize again.”

She bit her tongue, tasting her own blood. The bastard was right. He knew she _needed_ him; she’d bloody well told him that. He was making her work for it. She contemplated how satisfying it would be to swipe at him anyway, but was already retracting her claws. They slide back down into her normal black fingernails.

“Good girl.” He grinned, smugly satisfied.

Her response was immediate. She slapped him, _hard_ , across the face and wrenched herself off his horse, leaping back onto hers. She was shaking, not only with rage but with a deep, rolling sickness that was obliterating everything and threatened to rise into her throat. _I will **not** vomit, _she told herself desperately.

He must have seen something in her face because the flash of anger, and even the belligerent arrogance had disappeared. She saw conflicting emotions of concern and wariness in his eyes. His expression had gentled into one of uncertainty. He started to reach out to her, and she reflexively cringed. _I’m going to die of humiliation,_ she thought with despair _._

This was simply not happening. It was purely happenstance that he would pick two words that were _loaded_ with such poor history. He shifted back quietly and eased his horse back a couple of paces, clearly out of respect to her reaction. “I apologize for leaving without telling you, and then goading you when you had a right to your anger.” His gaze was clear, direct and without malice.

She couldn’t believe it. _She’d slapped him,_ she thought, shocked _, but he was apologizing?_ “Yes, well, I… thank you.” She shuddered, working for calm. There was a long pause, broken only by the low snort of the pack horse.

“Are you alright?” he asked her quietly. She took a deep breath, working for her composure. What was it about this man that made her constantly scramble for the balance that she’d worked so hard to master?

“Yes, thank you. I apologize for slapping you. As annoying as you can be, it was uncalled for. I don’t believe in violence as an answer or excuse.” Despite the outline of her handprint on his cheek, his smile was brilliant in the silver light. She was dazzled, overwhelmed, and a little bit afraid of how quicksilver his mood was. _Who are you?_ She wondered.

“Martha would say that I constantly deserve a smack. Usually upside the head.” The rogue was back in that grin again.

Despite her still-settling guts, Laura found she could muster a smile. “I knew I liked her.”

“She’s an incredible woman.” Gabriel’s smile slid into fondness. He shifted, seemingly trying to decide something. She could see a question forming and steeled herself against it.

“You seemed not so much angry, as hurt, when you slapped me. Is there something that I can do to ensure I don’t make the same mistake again?” He was looking at her face but averted his eyes to her cheek, making it as nonconfrontational as possible.

Laura closed her eyes. It was framed incredibly politely, and certainly was reasonable given the circumstances. She just couldn’t tell him. It was too soon, and his distrust of her made such confessional intimacy impossible for her right now. She had to believe that there would be _some_ mutual understanding when she told him.

She shook her head. “There are things I will have to…entrust to you before we get to the Queen’s castle. I am working on how to discuss them with you. I’m afraid I don’t have the words right now, I apologize.”

He gazed at her for a moment. “As you wish.” He inclined his head and eased his horse around her, giving her as wide a berth as the path would allow. She waited a moment, allowing the pack horse to take its place behind him before easing her mount into last place.

They travelled in quiet through the early evening, listening to the hooting owls, chirping crickets and occasional beast blundering through the underbrush. After a particularly loud crash and rustle, Gabriel’s voice floated back to her, dryly amused, “Sounds like one of your man-dolls.”

Laura was startled out of an unpleasant daydream of Gabriel’s face looming over her as she tried to draw in air that was saturated in agony and suffering. He laughed with cruel delight as blood poured out of her mouth. _If that’s not apprehension, I don’t know what is,_ she thought with faint nausea.

She answered honestly, “I rarely make them anymore. I told you, it was purely to test your abilities. Besides,” she retorted, catching his insult, “We both know you fared much differently against me.” He was silent. She simultaneously gave herself congratulations, and admonished herself for being petty.

“It would have gone much differently if I’d had my combat cross.” He finally answered; challenge in his voice.

Laura’s “ _mmmm_ ” was loaded with derision and disbelief. She’d pitched it soft and low, but she knew he’d caught it when his spine straightened. She’d like to know how simply sitting straight up could hold so much sass.

“You are overconfident. That is a poor quality in a warrior.” Having her words tossed back at her was not something Laura enjoyed, but she conceded he had a point. She was assuming and he _had_ been fighting without his primary weapon.

“I guess we will just have to see what we see.” She offered diplomatically. That seemed to diffuse the situation a little, and they lapsed back into silence.

Perhaps an hour later his voice drifted back again, “What _are_ the dolls anyway?”

Laura shifted in her saddle, “I used to call them deadly toys. Deadlies, now. They were a form of early warning, and protection when I was younger.” She debated telling him the rest, and added on, “They were also companions, after a fashion.”

“Companions, huh? Do they normally talk?” he asked, curiosity seeping into his words.

“No, they never speak.” Laura said, “My magic has given them the ability to move, follow commands and fight, but they don’t think, speak or reason.”

“I don’t understand how _that_ is a companion. Companions interact, contribute to conversations, play games, tell secrets,” Gabriel sounded confused, “they participate.”

“We would play!” her tone was defensive, “I would play chess with them, or read them stories, or enact battles between them…” she trailed off, feeling ridiculous.

“What did your friends think of them?” he asked.

Before she could stop herself, Laura scoffed; sad bitterness in her voice when she answered, “Belmont, they _were_ my friends. Yes, I know, that’s pitiful, you don’t need to tell me. Let me just thank you in advance for your input on the matter.” 

“You made your own friends then?” he asked, his voice betraying nothing.

“It was that or be alone.” She answered quietly, defeated by her own memories. _This is great,_ she thought with despair. _I look like a strange, half-crazy hermit_ _nattering away in the corner to her imaginary friends._ Hardly the rapport she was hoping to establish with him.

“There were times I could have used that skill.” He mused, voice shaded with disquiet and sadness. Laura urged her horse past the pack horse, coming up alongside him. He cast her a sideways glance and looked back ahead.

She sought for a way to acknowledge his small olive branch. “Sometimes it was better than being alone. But sometimes it only reminds you how truly alone you are.”

“I think I understand.” he murmured.

“You don’t have to answer this, but I am wondering why you might feel alone in a vast complex like the Brotherhood? There seems to be people everywhere.” She looked over at him but he didn’t look at her.

Gabriel’s lips firmed, “Haven’t you ever felt alone in the middle of a crowd?”

“More often than not.” She agreed. Easier to say that, then to explain that there was almost never a time she didn’t feel alone. She decided to let it drop. They both had a right to privacy and he seemed just as reluctant to forego his, as she was hers.

“We were not encouraged to have friends, or even companions. We were to train, to pray and to kill. We are the hand of God at work in the world. Nothing more.” She was surprised when he spoke again, vehemence in his words.

“That’s not how it should have been, not how it was intended to be.” Laura was aghast. This was not what she put all her energy into creating. A lonely prison for little children to become killers? That was revolting, and hit too close to home.

“Well, it was. It was made worse by the competitions, the trials, the tests. Who would win this one, who was the best, who would be selected as a Chosen One? We all knew that we would only have ourselves in the end, and to get there, we could not trust the other competitors around us.” Gabriel shrugged, “It was what it was.”

“I cannot believe that Peter would sanction this. He and I have often conversed on the principles and ideals of the Brotherhood. I thought we understood the goals and purpose of what the Brotherhood is.” She literally couldn’t believe it. _Has Peter deceived me?_ she wondered _. I cannot believe he would but… Was it all a lie?_

“In fairness, Peter has only had true power to make any changes since Father Thomas died four years ago. It was quite a shift to give final, sole authority to the Commander. Peter has pushed for a complete overhaul to the training, and I’ve helped him craft the workbooks and lessons. We’ve fleshed out the curriculum to make it more well-rounded and focus on the success of the group as the success of the Brotherhood.” He glanced over at her, and she met his gaze for a moment. The storms were hovering, but quiet for the moment.

He continued, “It’s hard when all the missions are usually solo, and the apprenticeships with particular brothers are sought after. We are changing it, slowly of course, but for the better. Prior to that, instruction was jointly held between the commander, the priests and the trainers. It still is at other locations. Often what was wanted, and what was taught, would conflict. It was up to each trainee to tailor ourselves to whomever was teaching us that day. Nothing was certain, and being alone was being safe.”

“I’m sorry,” Laura whispered, “It sounds horrible.” _No wonder he was so angry when I told him that attacking him had been a test,_ she thought bitterly _. Just great._

“I’m alright. It seemed to work for me. Here I am, a Chosen One, escorting Lady Laura to the castle of the Vampire Queen.” His attempt at humor felt like a stab of accusation in her heart.

There would be much she would be investigating once she returned home. _You’ve let your responsibilities slide,_ she thought _, you need to make sure that the Brotherhood is staying true to its purpose._ She let her thoughts drift into mapping out how she would do this, a silent apparition beside his side.

Around midnight they stopped for a chance for Gabriel to relieve himself, and for something to eat. Laura excused herself to hunt, clarifying where he was headed so as to avoid the area, before flitting away under the trees. She opened her senses wider, drinking in the cool secrets of the night landscape, and listening to the scuffles of the eternal hunt between predator and prey.

There was a warm-blooded creature splashing in the creek up ahead, and she narrowed in on it. Moving soundlessly through the underbrush and cattails she spied her prey; a big, fat beaver dragging a tree down to the waterside. Unwilling to get her boots wet, she levitated over to it and pounced on it in a distinctly feline movement.The animal didn’t even have time to squeak before she’d broken its neck.

“Thank you for your life, may I use it for the greater good,” she whispered. Laura turned it, still dripping with river water, and sunk her teeth into the slowing pulse under her fingers. Blood gushed onto her tongue and she felt rejuvenation creep through her like a warm blush over her skin. Her eyes fluttered close as she swallowed hot life into her. She hated that she needed this, hated that she had to consume in this way, but it simply was.

She needed to ingest blood, and do so regularly. It was better to be consistent and vigilant in appeasing her hunger, than to let it build to an insane, uncontrollable inferno of need. Laura knew too well the consequences of that. Far sooner than she wished, the blood flow slowed, and her meal was at an end. She tipped the beaver’s body back, using the angle to encourage the remaining drops of precious fluid to drip into her mouth.

 _Time to return to Gabriel Belmont,_ she thought _._ Shifting the weight of the carcass in her arms, she bent down to the river and cupped water in her hand. Laura washed out her mouth and ran a wet hand over her face, drawing it back to look for evidence of blood. Finding none, she dried her face on the inside of her cloak and took one last sip of water. She turned back to where the horses, and by now Belmont, was waiting.

\---

Inside of this hole you create  
You hide from yourself  
You separate every belief that is true  
And you spend your life  
Attached to this poison  
You don’t feel anything out of the rain  
And it’s true that  
You spend your life  
Trapped in this void  
Where you will stay always  
\- _“Phantom Bride”_ Deftones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm late, aaaagain. I have a treat for you though, to make up for it!


	10. There will be history

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance discovery of clothing leads to further moments of understanding. But when Gabriel is attacked and Laura comes to his rescue, the pair cross a bridge into a friendship that will change both of their destinies forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warning: Rodent phobia, childhood bullying**   
> 

Silence could hold such meaning. It was a language unto itself, a secret code that could be learned between two people. Deciphering the code becomes the shared experiences, whispered secrets, joint laughter and flight patterns of glances between them. For Gabriel, it is the silence that has opened them up to each other.

It existed between them in blocks of discomfort, like sharp rocks and hot coals that seared and ripped their feet. Other silences were like a twining of arms in the light of a fading sun, snaking around them, safe and constant. But there was a silence that was the most dangerous. It was undermining his determination to stay reserved and to ignore the tugs of curiosity and awareness.

Gabriel found the tunic in his pack that evening. It was considerably smaller than one of his and was made with fine white linen, some strange flora embroidered around the neckline. The flowers were stunning: thumbnail-sized half-moons of yellow and with a green, reed-like base.

There were some deep purple spheres piled beside the flowers, with funny little tops that looked like a toddler’s hair after a nap. Two of the spheres were sliced open and the insides were three chambers, divided by cream-colored walls and filled with red seeds that spilled out like drops of blood over the breast of the tunic. There was an expertly crafted patch in the corner, the linen barely revealing the repair.

He brought it out to Laura, who was writing by the firelight. “This is not mine.”

She looked up at him in surprise; he usually left her to her devices after the evening meal. She folded her quill in between the pages, and reached out for the linen. Her face moved from polite curiosity to pleased recognition. “Oh! Excellent!! I was afraid she’d forgotten! I’ve been sleeping in virtually nothing, this is a welcome surprise.”

 _Did not need to know that,_ Gabriel thought.

 _I did!_ His shadow voice chortled and helpfully supplied him with an image of curves wrapped in pale skin and silken tresses. _So soft and bare, so much to touch and to take._

 _Damnit,_ he thought, _could you not!_ That image would be with him for a while now.

He shook it off, “I’m sorry? Who forgot?”

“Martha! Martha repaired this for me before we left, and I just assumed that she forgot. She must have gotten our bags mixed up.” Laura stood and unrolled the tunic. She murmured appreciatively, “Her work is excellent. I must remember to ask her what she used to get the blood out, you can’t even tell where it was.”

“What blood?” Gabriel asked and immediately regretted it _. You don’t ask a woman about blood on her clothes, especially a vampire,_ he thought.

“Oh, it was a misunderstanding. I startled Peter and he threw a blade that found its way into my shoulder.” She patted the limb, as though comforting a sad puppy.

“You startled Peter while you were in your nightshift?” While that might explain a lot in terms of Peter’s blind devotion to Laura, the twist of jealousy was unwelcome and frustrating. Why should he care either way?  
  
 _That’s not possible_ , the shadow voice told him.

 _I don’t know her; I don’t know what **is** possible_, Gabriel retorted.

 _You **do** know Peter_, the shadow voice snapped back belligerently.

Laura looked sheepish. “Yes, he’d come to tell me that you were gone. We were speaking through the door and I, well, I may have grabbed him forcefully. I was not pleased.” She looked chagrined, “I had no intention of hurting him, only bringing him in from the sunlight in the corridor as quickly as possible. Anyway, I ended up with a blade for my mismanagement of the situation.”

Gabriel reminded himself that he had no reason to be relieved; they could still be lovers. _Except that Peter is a better man than I am, and could obviously resist temptation. There is that_ , he thought sourly _._

“Peter only carries silver daggers.” Gabriel was sure of it. He’d given Peter the set of daggers that he wore every day. It had been a gift to commemorate when he’d completed the ritual of the Chosen One; when they’d become equals.

“Mmmm?” She was inspecting the patch again, “Ah, yes. It was silver as I recall.”

“Silver is supposed to be deadly to vampires.” Gabriel said it with deliberate weight to the words now. There was something she was not telling him. This story did not make sense. He opened his senses and could not detect any malice or magic. He could sense embarrassment though. _What’s that about?_ he wondered.

She glanced at him and there was a faint flush blooming on her cheeks. “It is, normally. I developed a resistance to it.”

 _Fascinating,_ he thought _._ Was that even feasible? He opened himself as wide as possible to the night and was hit by that fresh, cool scent. Beneath it, he could practically _smell_ Laura’s mortification. It was a bizarre reaction but more importantly, there was no hint that Laura was lying. “How is that possible?” he asked flatly.

Laura sighed. “Truthfully, I am not entirely sure. I know that my structure, and functions have permanently changed because of my long-term denial of human blood. There was also a lot of silver used on me when I was first…born.” She cleared her throat. “The long-term result is that silver seems to irritate my skin but nothing more.” She clutched the nightshift in her hands, white knuckles of anxiety that suggested he was missing something. What it was, he could not know.

This was very good information to have, just in case. His suspicions of her had eased somewhat, but he was a firm believer in being as educated about a situation as possible. Especially if basic attacks were not going to be successful against her.

“Are there any other things that I should know about your abilities?” He couldn’t help it; the scorn had crept back into his voice.

Laura’s spine straightened, and her face settled into determined lines, “You should know that I can sense a hidden agenda a mile away. You want to know the most convenient way to kill me, if you need to.”

Gabriel opened his mouth to argue. _It’s not exactly like that_ , he thought defensively. _Not exactly_. Laura beat him to it, her face collapsing into weariness.

“It’s fine. I don’t blame you. I don’t trust vampires either. There is always some devious plot, some other scheme. I can only tell you again that I mean you no harm, and hope that someday, you can believe me.” She offered him a melancholy smile.

 _There’s that honesty again,_ he thought with resignation. Every time he thought he could keep his walls up, she lobbed a truth at his defenses and another block came down. If it was a devious plan, she was the most cunning creature on the planet. He didn’t actually expect her to tell him. Who would choose to leave themselves completely vulnerable to a virtual stranger?

“I do not seem to be as weakened by holy water, crosses or holy spaces as most vampires. It hurts like a back-handed slap more than anything else.” Gabriel’s head jerked up. _She was telling him_ , he thought in amazement. It could be a trick but he didn’t think so. He resisted the urge to expand his senses again to check. It was odd, but he felt like he owed her that much.

“I am very susceptible to fairies,” she glanced at him, “as you know. They are charming to me but also hypnotizing. Wooden stakes through the heart should be highly successful although I obviously cannot confirm that for you without, well, you know. Beheading, the usual damage to the skull and face—all of these _should_ kill me. Magic is hit and miss; it depends on the spell. I have my own magic and like most magic users, things that I am more vulnerable to than others. Fire is a definite weakness, but earth-based spells seem to do nothing. Demon attacks, wargs, goblins, undead—all likely to be unsuccessful, although that depends on the….”

“Laura, stop. I am sorry. That was unkind of me. You did not deserve that.” Gabriel truly _was_ sorry. There was something raw and miserable about her list of vulnerabilities. As though she’d considered all the ways she could be killed before, whether to protect herself, or to end herself, he did not know. He remembered a time he’d done the same, and for morbid reasons.

And there it was, that silence that was so dangerous. The feeling that this creature may know more of him than he knew about himself. That there may be an understanding between them, a connection, that surpasses his instincts, the facts of his life, the stories of her kind, even the blood he has shed to destroy those vampires he’s hunted.

He cannot get a handle on her, the duality of who she seems to be, and what he knows she is. She’s like a glow of a candle, entrancing and mesmerizing but deadly, if you took what she actually was for granted.

“Thank you, Belmont, that is considerate of you to say.” She folded up the tunic and stroked the pretty embroidery.

The plants were fascinating and made him wonder what had made Martha choose those flowers. _Where had she seen them?_ “Martha does lovely work.” He commented. “I don’t recognize the plants though.”

Laura’s smile was genuinely pleased. “Thank you! I am glad you like them. While Martha did a gorgeous job of repairing the tear, the embroidery work is my own. They are pomegranates and papyrus flowers. I saw both when I was in Egypt.”

“You made them?” Gabriel was surprised. It was such a delicate, celebratory thing. He didn’t think of something with fangs as caring about flowers and pretty colors. He sat with it for a moment, uncomfortable with realizing that this made her seem more human. _What creature of the night would do something purely for the art of it?_ he wondered.

He’d never really thought about what vampires did with their free time. They’d have a lot of it, he supposed. He’d always just assumed that they spent most of it killing people. In retrospect, this was an incredibly short-sighted viewpoint to have.

“Yes, I love to embroider. It’s such a fun and relaxing thing. To make things prettier, more cheerful just because you can.” She ducked her head, blushing. “It’s like writing, but instead of having the images in your mind, you are telling a story with your threads. I try to embroider or draw the things I have seen in my travels or growing in my gardens. It keeps it with me.” She set the tunic on top of her book and crossed her legs.

“I have travelled quite a bit in the country, but I never made it to Egypt. I envy you; it must have been incredible.” He couldn’t quite keep the pining out of his voice. He’s always loved travel and learning new lands and languages. Figuring out the truths in a place and the meaning of its customs; exploring new ways to see the world.

“It was stunning. There are things there that I cannot possibly describe, buildings and art that is like nothing you’ve ever seen, people who I will never forget. The mix of cultures is so complex, intricate and vast, you could spend your life there and never see it all.” Her hands were dancing, as though she could rebuild it with the movements of her fingers.

“I’ve never felt so small and so young, then I did when I stood in the sands there. There has been such a layering of lives, one on top of each other that you can _feel_ them all speaking to you in every fleck of dust.” Her inhalation was full of longing and wistfully happy. “But the people, Belmont!” She laughed, “Oh, they were exquisite! Humanity is always so beautiful and so varied. Every person has an incredible story and if you are lucky, they might share it with you. There was this gorgeous little girl who ran right up to me one evening and pulled me into a reeling dance by firelight. She moved like a happy ghost, flitting through the crowds! Ah! To go there again…”

He could see it, through her words. The billowing sands, the ancient structures. Feel her love for the people and their experiences. See a little girl hand in hand with a pale woman by the firelight. She would be smiling, unrestricted, and dancing with abandon. It would be lovely, and she would be beautiful. Seeing it in his mind, the free grace of it and the unconscious eroticism of her moments, played havoc on his body. He was silent. _That_ cursed silence.

\---

She didn’t know what possessed her and now she was incredibly nervous. _Of all the foolish things_. She’d just acted on impulse when Gabriel had asked her to collect the washing. It’d been drying since they’d watered the horses. He’d been so sweet about her embroidery, and had obviously enjoyed it. When she saw the worn collar on his blue tunic, she’d thought to surprise him with a repair and a little something that’d she associated with him since the first night on the road.

Looking at it now, she’s afraid she will undo the modest understanding that has developed between them. _Like the idea that you’ll treat each other’s items with respect? Suffer well!_ She gnawed her lower lip anxiously _._ _Just cut it out, that would be best._

She pulled her Medusa blade out to do just that when she heard his panicked roar, “ _Oh, FUUUUUCK, NO!_ **GetitoffGETITOOOOOOFFFFFF!!!”** She blurred down the path to him in a matter of seconds, and burst into their campsite. _What the hell? Were they under attack?_ The bucket of water has been turned over, a bag of chestnuts strewn across the ground, a half-peeled potato in the middle of this and where is….

Belmont was pressed up against the trunk of a tree, half-huddled into it in a pantomime of a child crawling into his mother’s lap. He was brandishing the paring knife in one trembling hand like it’s the last siege of Constantinople and he is the only one left to defend the gates. His face was pure horror and disgust. Laura was genuinely alarmed to see him like this and yelled, “Belmont! Where is it? _What is it?!”_

Eyes wide like a frightened horse, he could only gesture with the paring knife in a series of frantic flicks. Following his gaze, she stalked cautiously forward. She looked back at him to confirm she is going the right direction—he nodded emphatically— and pulled her second blade. Whatever it was, it’s behind the fallen tree and she doesn’t need Belmont to tell her she is on her own. The man was barely hanging on. There is an insidious rustling from behind the tree and a sound like clacking bones. _One, two…_

 _Three._ With a frustrated chirp, the grey squirrel jumped up onto the fallen tree, carrying a pilfered chestnut. It banged it on the hollow tree, “clack-clack!” and Belmont emitted a strangled squeak. Laura looked at the squirrel. It didn't seem alarmed, just miffed about the chestnut’s lack of cooperation. Laura looked out into the forest. Everything seemed quiet, so she turned back towards Belmont.

“ _Don’t_ give it your _back_!!” he yelped at her.

“Belmont, there is nothing out there!” she said.

“It’s _right there_ Laura, are you kidding me? Fucking **_kill_** it!!” she turned back to the woods. The squirrel had apparently decided that this chestnut is a total loss, because it jumped down to the ground for another. Belmont’s wheeze is audible and he managed, “It’s **_coming_** for you!”

Laura felt like a fool. He’s playing a practical joke on her. She sheathed her Medusas. Belmont moaned like she’s just been gutted with a spear, “You are done for," he whimpered. "They can smell weakness.”

“Belmont, that is enough. You got me.” She walked toward him, which inadvertently caused the squirrel to run in the opposite direction and toward him. He recoiled like she threw her short sword at him and started to inch around the tree.

 _“Laura! DO s_ omething! _**Please**!!”_ The note of panic in his ‘please’ struck her as a little too authentic. She always tried to err on the side of caution when it came to kindness. He had been very patient with her when she’d slapped him. She would play the hero, just in case. If he laughed at her, and called her a fool, then that was a reflection of his poor nature, not hers.

“Shoo! Shoo!” Laura edged her way towards the squirrel, herding it away from Belmont and toward the chestnuts. She waited while it selected one and then charged it. The squirrel fled from the camp like it was possessed.

When she turned back to Belmont, he was ashen, sweating, and breathing heavily. “Are you alright?” she asked, but felt like it’s an obvious negative.

“I _hate_ those fucking scratchy little bastards. All their little claws! and darting around, and stealthy slinking, and beady fucking eyes just looking for a place to sink their teeth into you… _ugh_!” He had a full body quake and had to take several deep breaths.

“He just came out of nowhere and darted between my legs. I felt his _tail_ on my ass and…” He shivered and made a retching face. _“_ Disgusting! Creepy! Little fucker _.”_ He brushed off his ass.

She _had_ found the whole thing ridiculous and insulting. Now, really looking at him and seeing him this, she understood that this is a serious thing for him. Laura is profoundly grateful she hadn’t laughed. No matter how much she will remember that comically hilarious, “ _they can smell weakness_ ,” line.

“ _Thank you_ for getting rid of it.” He looked truly grateful. “It’s ludicrous, I know, but I had a horrible experience with those furry monsters when I was a boy and it’s just a _thing_ for me now. I can stare down a fucking demon no problem, but a squirrel just _destroys_ me.”

 _Now, that’s not funny,_ Laura thought sympathetically. It removed any doubt in her head that she’ll tuck this away and never mention it again. She understood fear that shamed you and left you feeling helpless. More than she cares to admit.

“I keep telling myself it was just a childhood prank. Two of the older boys got a sack and three squirrels and tied me in it. I had bested them in hand to hand, and they were angry. _But it was awful_. All the little claws, sharp teeth, furry sliding, bones like tiny…” He looked like he was going to be sick.

Like a hand rising from the grave, Laura remembered the rats. All the _little claws, sharp teeth, furry sliding,_ swarming towards the blood, biting into her slashed flesh… “Hey, are you alright?” Belmont’s face swam back into focus and Laura yanked herself out of the memory. “You looked like you were going to faint,” he said with concern.

“I understand, Belmont, more than you know,” she looked at him, nodding slowly. “I had a similar experience with rats. I cannot stand them now. The sight, even the sound of them, makes me panic. I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll kill the squirrels and you kill the rats; sound good?”

He gave her a smile with a hint of his usual roguish mischief. “That’s a deal.” He put out his hand and she shook it, ignoring, as best she can, the tingle that spread up her arm. “What’s that?” Gabriel asked and reached up to her shoulder. She’d forgotten about his tunic and slung it over her shoulder when she’d drawn her second short sword. The little embroidered design by the collar was in his hands now and she felt her stomach roll violently. _Oh, no,_ she thought fearfully.

 _“Laura.”_ He looked up into her eyes, and it’s like a rock thrown by a slingshot. That tingling awareness hit her right between her eyes, as she was sucked into those churning storms of sodalite, pearl and lead.

“This is _gorgeous_ , thank you _._ ” He ran his thumb over the little fox curled up beside the collar, the size of his knuckle and exquisitely detailed. The fox is sleeping, delicate tail fluffed out happily, one ear folded down. “How did you know? I _love_ foxes.”

Laura felt her blush rising and the pleasure at having gotten this _right_ swelled through her. “Your story about the fox and his pups. He’s a protector. You are a protector. It just...,” she lifted her shoulders, helpless to explain the _knowing_ , “made sense. I wanted to surprise you; I hope that it was alright. I didn’t mean to invade your privacy.”

He laughed and it was all worth it. She loved his laugh. “This is a gift, not an assault on the gates of my honor! Really, I love it!” Gabriel gave her a look filled with such delight that she felt her toes wiggle in response.

“This is a lovely thing to do. I will wear it with pride.” He touched her shoulder and a warm, heavy loveliness soaked into her bones. “Thank you so much.”

When his hand dropped away, she cannot help but feel that he’d left a small kiss on her shoulder. It tingled and burned and pulsed. Sweetness filled her, and she flapped her hands helplessly, accidentally knocking the shirt out of Gabriel’s grasp.

“Oops! I’ve got it!” She said, and bent down. It fluttered between his feet and she had to bend forward further than her squat allowed. Putting out her hand, she went to her knees and seized it. She rocked back onto her knees and triumphantly crowed, “Aha!” before looking up.

It was a mistake, a huge one. She suddenly realized she is on her knees in front of him, prostrate like an offering to some dark god. Gabriel looked down at her with a hooded gaze, storms raging. If she just leaned forward, she could use her teeth to undo the laces on his pants and run her tongue over the tip of his cock, coaxing him into her mouth. She could almost feel the slide of his flesh over her tongue, filling her as she flicked her tongue against the underside of his hot shaft.

 _Holy **shit** , what was that?! _she thought, aroused and disturbed. _That damn book!_ She scrambled back from Gabriel, and jerkily got to her feet. “Ugh, sorry about that. Here you go.” She tossed it at him, afraid to come any closer lest she fall to her knees and not get back up until she knew what he tasted like when he came.

Instead she gave him a shaky smile and went to gather up the chestnuts. They finished preparing supper in silence. In the days to come, when she sees him wearing the tunic with the little fox napping in the moonlight, she will think how funny it is that sometimes words aren’t needed to become connected to someone. Sometimes it is just the sharing of the silence that said the most.

\---

You touch me and it's almost like we knew  
That there will be history between us two  
We knew someday that we would have regrets  
But we just ignored them the night we met  
We just dance backwards into each other  
Trying to keep our feelings secretly covered  
You touch me and it's almost like we knew that  
There will be history  
There's no way that it's not going there  
With the way that were looking at each other  
 _\- “There’s No Way,”_ Lauv, feat. Julia Michaels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra chapter for your patience this week, thank you!


	11. I'm falling down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the unlikely duo moves into prime goblin territory, Gabriel struggles to maintain his distance from Laura and comes to the realization that his initial assumptions about her might truly be wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He was letting his guard down and it was a bad idea. They’d been on the road little more than a week and despite his best efforts, she was devastating his defenses. What’s worse, he was beginning to suspect that it wasn’t a devious plot but an artless accident of innocence.

And she _was_ innocent. Painfully so at times, all the more evident from her blatant earnestness. He’d never met someone as uncompromisingly honest as Laura. He envied her ability to be so excruciatingly truthful but still somehow retain her dignity.

It never seemed to come from a place of cruelty or vulgarity, but rather pure integrity. She seemed to be unable to exploit even the most basic aspects of cunning and deceit; traits that were so much a part of vampire society. She’d said that she was not one of the nobles and he could see it; she was likely eaten _alive_ among her kind.

More than once he’s tried to ask about how she came to have her status in the court and has been gently but firmly put off. Laura has not tried to pretend she isn’t avoiding the question. She tells him that she doesn’t have the words yet. That it is complicated. That she is not ready.

Whether she intended it would or not, it left him with lingering doubts about the mission. Ironically, it seemed to only deepen the grudging admiration that is growing despite his best intentions. Even with his qualms, he was fighting a losing battle with himself.

He’d started respecting her candid openness before they’d even left. Gabriel suspected that his reluctant approval had left the door open for him to weaken. He’d unexpectedly developed a chink in his armor; her unfettered honesty led to their quiet pockets of shared vulnerability.

The silence and the womb-like darkness has birthed an intimacy between them that he did not want. These moments had exposed a wealth of shared experience between them; a mutual understanding that spanned across their independent circumstances. He’s discovered that they had more in common than he would have thought. Gabriel was always surprised when it happens; he does not want to have anything in common with creatures of the dark.

The whole thing makes him uneasy. Every little discovery is a leaf against the gate of his heart and Gabriel _wants_ to keep it firmly closed. It might take a million leaves to finally push the gate open but eventually it _would_ open. The blazing attraction he felt for her was not helping. It also made him wary that he was giving in more easily than reality would actually warrant.

Ironically, he liked her best when she was irritated or angry; losing her self possession and reacting brashly. Laura seemed so human then, as though she hasn’t had _hundreds_ of years to learn her emotions.

 _She’s also sinfully attractive when she is irate,_ purrs the shadow voice.

 _Yes, agreed, that **is** a thing,_ he admits to himself, but it’s still something he doesn’t really want to accept. Accepting it would eventually, inexorably lead to acting on it.

Gabriel supposed it was a sign of his own depraved nature that he _deliberately_ and _frequently_ provoked her because he enjoyed their verbal sparring. And apparently loved to suffer the semi-aroused state it left him in.

 _I have real problems,_ he thinks.

 _Don’t we know it?_ the shadow voice chuckled.

His initial apprehension about provoking her had faded into nothing. No matter how livid she was, she never hurt him. Even when she’d slapped him, it hadn’t hurt, as much as shocked, them both.

 _Not that he wanted to do that everyday; she was strong._ Gabriel ruefully thought.

 _Oh, come now, you **liked** it. Bet she’s strong enough to hold you down. Let’s find out, _the shadow voice coaxed.

 _Fuck off,_ he warned.

 _It’s not **me** you want to fuck. It’s not my thighs you want your face cradled between. It’s not my claws you want in your hair, pulling you closer to lick, suck, fill, take…_ The shadow voice was insidious, unrelenting.

 ** _SHUT THE FUCK UP!_** Gabriel mentally bellowed.

It took him a minute to regain the thread of his thoughts. His haze of desire was burned away by the memory of the blazing panic and wounded hurt that had surfaced with unnerving speed on Laura’s face. He still wasn’t positive it had been a reaction to what he’d said.

It could have been what he had done or what she was afraid he might do in retaliation. He’d avoided touching her or getting too close since then. But when he laid on his pallet and saw the glow of dawn that same day, he’d been fairly confident it had been the words. He’d avoided using the phrase with her ever since. _Good girl._

It made him wonder about what had happened with her in the past. What might give her that kind of reaction to mere words. Wondered about the situation that might bring those words up. It made him clench his teeth, afraid of the answer. Afraid that he cared about the answer.

Context was everything, the key to understanding their interactions. She was an open book with a thousand pages written in an unknown language. The answers were there but he didn’t have the language to read them.

It made him wonder about the lumpy—what’d she call it? _Deadly toy_. Had he misunderstood _that_ situation as well? Peter seemed to have been right about that too; she could have killed him if she’d wanted to. If he was really forthright with himself, he’d known that from the beginning. She could have turned her lightning on him right at the start and he would have had _no_ chance.

Still, he felt resentment at being subjected to her _test_. His entire life with the Brotherhood had been one test after another. He was tired of being a puppet on a string, even if that string was tethered to the hand of God.

“Belmont, are you ignoring me on purpose?” Laura appeared in a swirl of bats and purple mist directly in front of his horse. Understandably it reared and Gabriel could not blame it at all. With unbelievable speed, the vampire leapt up and yanked the horse down before Gabriel could be unseated.

“What the _fuck!_ ” he shouted, holding onto his reins for dear life. Astonishingly, the horse was no longer moving. He looked to the side and there she was, stroking the horse’s trembling head and holding him in an iron grip. She was murmuring apologies and humming to the shaken animal. To his utter dismay, she was humming one of Marie’s favorite songs. _Don’t sing that, it is **not** for you!_

“What do you think you are doing?!” he roared at her.

She was calm in the face of his anger, “I am sorry, truly, but I was trying to get your attention for at least the last two miles and the mountain path is too narrow to bring my horse around safely.”

“Fine yes, that’s fine—but what _the hell_ do you think you are singing?”

She stopped immediately. Like a chastised child, she cast her eyes down, shook her head and stepped away. “I don’t—I’m sorry.”

 _You aren’t being reasonable Gabriel; how could she know?_ he asked himself. _I just, I…I **don’t** want her singing that._

“What did you want anyway? I was thinking.” _Nice, now that was a great follow-up to soften your unreasonable response,_ he thought witheringly _._

She had walked a short distance away from him, looking ahead into the woods. He took the opportunity to dismount and stretch. He bent to the ground and heard his back crack. Straightening, he put his hands over his head, fingers linked as he reached towards the sky. He closed his eyes and stretched.

“I wanted to warn—“she cut off with a strangled hiss. Gabriel glanced over at her, deep in his stretch. _What was **that** expression? _He wondered with amusement _._ Laura looked almost comical; consternation, amazement, dismay and something else giving her an almost glazed expression.

“Everything alright?” he asked her, coming out of the lean back to twist from side to side.

“What?” Laura looked at him, confused and then blushed. _That is another thing._ He’d never heard of a vampire blushing and yet she seemed to with regular frequency. It was an undeniably weird phenomenon. Despite, or maybe because of her exotic coloring, it kept jolting him every time it happened.

Even more disconcerting, it seemed entirely random and not actually indicative of embarrassment. Most times there was no other indication of embarrassment or shyness _but_ the blush. He couldn’t trust it; it didn’t seem to mean _anything_.

If it did, she’d be embarrassed _all_ the time: packing horses, saying goodnight, when she told him she was leaving for a bath or to hunt, when he cooked supper, when he breathed…The blush was just **_maddening_**. And he couldn’t stop asking himself insane things about it.

 _Did she ever blush anywhere else? What would that look like?_ It made him wonder if she ever full-body blushed. What might _cause_ a full body blush. If it might happen if he traced his fingers down her throat and between the valley of her breasts. Surely it would happen if he slid inside her while her thighs cradled his hips. Gabriel wondered if he might ever have a chance to find out.

That was a treacherous road to go down but like a child with fire, he was already burned before he realized the danger. _Great, now I am thinking about what her face might look like when I am deep inside of her,_ he thought with a hiss. _The extent of her blush, when she found her release._

 _With me,_ the shadow snarled _._ The possessiveness was a keen warning bell.

It was lost on Gabriel as he mused. _Would she keep her eyes open or closed? Would she flush between her breasts and up her throat as he fisted his hands into her thick hips? Would it be a blooming rose of color that would spread up from her belly, like her hips would rise to meet his?_

He couldn’t even blame the beast on those last images. That was all him. He stifled a groan. He was _obsessed_ with her blushes and it was ridiculous. It was just part of this insane want. He didn’t know how to explain the magnetic attraction. She was nothing he’d ever encountered before. Undeniably supernatural but somehow incredibly human, somehow, he wanted her. _He wanted._

She cleared her throat and tried again, a faint stain in her pallid cheeks. “I wanted to warn you that we are coming into Veros Woods.” She pointed into a crag of rock a couple of miles ahead of them that had a tree growing—or falling, it couldn’t seem to make up it’s mind—out of its side. Because of the moonlight, it was only an outline.

“It looks like a weird unicorn.” He observed and Laura chuckled. It was a little strained and he found himself studying her. She was intentionally looking away from him. _Something’s amiss,_ he thought.

She kept her eyes on the landmark. “That is prime goblin territory. From there to Wygol Village we should be on guard and as silent as we can be. They are _crawling_ in there.”

“And how far is Wygol Village?” Gabriel asked, watching her profile in the light, unable to determine the source of her anxiety. He finally chalked it up to the goblins. They were horrid little monsters.

“Over 150 leagues from here.” She finally turned back to him and met his gaze. “It is a long way to travel in virtual silence, but it would be best if we did.”

“We can certainly try.” Gabriel nodded in agreement. “Let’s try not to mist and scare the horse again, debemusne?”* He cocked a brow. There was that _blush_ again. No, she wasn’t technically beautiful, but _damn her_ for being so enticing.

As they started toward the bizarre unicorn rock, a thought that had been quietly nudging him for that last day returned. _What if Peter was right about all of it?_ he wondered.

What would that mean for the mission? What would that mean for everything he _thought_ he knew about the Brotherhood’s purpose? For what he’d spent his entire life working on? More immediately, what did it mean for acting on all his lustful thoughts?

 _An **insanely** satisfying night, _the shadow voice hissed.

Gabriel screwed his eyes shut. **No.** There would be no acting on this…whatever it was. He couldn’t even know for sure if she truly didn’t drink human blood, if this attraction was a glamour, if this mission was real. It was all entirely based on impressions, conversations and observations. He had no actual evidence. Could he trust her? What was the risk if he did? _What was the reward?_

\---- 

Rivers of time  
Soundless cries  
Well I'm looking for you  
The dead of night  
I'm falling down  
I'm still looking for you  
I am leaving today  
On the lost roads of childhood  
I have nothing to say  
30 years old  
And I can't reach the manhood I remember  
The smiles  
Me and my family   
I see myself  
Full of life  
In these places of the past  
I see myself  
In front of a nameless house  
You see yourself  
And I hope you like what you've become  
_\- ‘A November Day,’_ Kadinja

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * debemusne = shall we
> 
> \-------------  
> I'm realllllly excited by the upcoming chapters. I want to say more; I am such a tease. But I won't. Because I am a tease 😁  
> \--------------  
> Thanks to Pixaby and Pexels for the images--highly recommend both for people looking for moodboard photos/art that are free to use and you can be sure have received permission from the artists for use! 🎁 * edit, so, ironically the painting I found in Pixaby was unattributed to the original artist who I found on DeviantArt, Gyossaith, entitled “Ed4.” 🥰


	12. So won't you wait for me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The problem was that there was so much more. He’s made her feel.
> 
> Laura had always struggled with feelings. They were slippery and difficult, like a bar of soap you’re holding too hard in the bath.
> 
> Feelings are a monster that hid in the closet where you thought the broom was—you reach in to pull it out and something with teeth yanks you in. You might get out but you’ll never be the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tags are getting unwieldy so I have decided I will put specific warnings (when needed) at the beginning of each chapter to try to keep it clear and clean.
> 
>  **TRIGGER WARNING:** Memories and feelings related to non-consensual acts, none of which are explained in detail

**_It_ ** _was impossible. **This** was impossible._

She couldn’t explain why she was so fascinated with Gabriel Belmont. She knew she appreciated his company and was intrigued by his keen mind. It was a contrast, or perhaps a compliment to that smart mouth. _It was a great mouth all round,_ she thought happily.

His smirk never failed to make her grind her teeth in exasperation or grin back in humor. Lips that looked smooth and strong, even when spewing heat at her. She’s known people who are lovely to look at, sure, but this is something else. She was _very_ aware he was physically appealing, which was uncomfortable. Yet, she cannot stop thinking about it.

She doesn’t know why he makes her blood heat, makes her blush and stutter. She watched him, all the time. She wondered and she was afraid. _Not the kind of afraid that makes your mind crawl away from your flesh because the pain has become a rampaging cloud of death,_ she thought. _Not the kind of afraid that forces you to crawl away from the powerlessness of what is happening and the hopelessness of what you cannot endure._ No, not that fear. Gods be kind, she will never feel that fear again.

She recognized the type of fear that she had of Belmont. She’s tasted traces of this fear every time she waited for a new sprout in her pots. Was reminded of the anticipatory tremble from a favored character entering a dark room in a story. Thought of the tingling dread from riding too fast and too hard across rough ground.

This is the same kind of afraid she’s had when she thought about how Gabriel Belmont covered her when they fought. What his tense, heavy muscle felt like on her. Why she should feel safe but also an awakening, a yearning. The kind of afraid that whirls in her guts like she is going to jump over a fire and might fall in or land a new person. Afraid of whether the storms of his eyes would be hot in the moonlight, or cold in the firelight if she were to touch him.

The problem was that there was _so much more_. He’s made her _feel._

Laura had always struggled with feelings. They were slippery and difficult, like a bar of soap you’re holding too hard in the bath. She’s lived semi-alone for centuries, locked in her mind. When you can’t escape memories that wake you screaming with hate for everything you are, everything that lives inside undead flesh you never wanted, spending every waking moment trying to earn back your soul… feelings can _destroy_ you. Feelings must be hidden and controlled.

She has so many of them and they overwhelm her. She’s become adept at forcing herself to repress, divert, shield, withhold. It’s a constant battle between keeping those emotions that she can manage, and repressing those that slash inside her with fangs to drink the night. A balance between those that help her stay human, and crushing those that would feed into her dark.

Feelings are a monster that hid in the closet where you thought the broom was—you reach in to pull it out and something with teeth yanks you in. You _might_ get out but you’ll never be the same.

It wasn’t that she was _without_ emotions. They helped her care about life, care about her plants, her best friend Chupa, the villages around her. Emotions like compassion and kindness, those were to be cultivated and she consciously worked at them a thousand times a day. Even things like fascination, fixation and desire could be safe, when directed to her interests and her home.

Certainly, her gardens and libraries reflected that. In the last two hundred years, she has started to feel a fixation with her kitchen as well. She was definitely obsessed with giving nourishment and life to as many creatures on earth as possible, whether they creep, crawl or run. She knew herself well enough to understand that it had started as a way to make amends for things that she could not name and could not change.

Now, centuries later she took great pleasure in it. It’s just that this pleasure wasn’t one that travelled below her navel. Pleasure. There was a feeling that she didn’t associate with the sexual use of her body.

 _Still, you can’t deny that Belmont gives you pleasure,_ she thought with a tremor.

The muscles in his shoulders that bunched and clenched as he packed the horses. The low murmur of music in his voice when he said goodnight. The shift in his eyes when she told him she was leaving for a bath or to hunt; she would pretend it was interest instead of suspicion. The competence of his broad hands and thick fingers as he deftly scrubbed potatoes. How secure the vegetable looked in those big, engulfing hands. The gentleness as he palmed it, rotated it, put it down.

Laura took a deep breath _. Good lord, she was seriously… She was breathing heavily…over **cooking,**_ she thought. _I am flustered over **potatoes**. What is wrong with me? Think about something else! _

The sound of his breath when he fell asleep, dark, low and steady. It made her want to climb out of her pallet and touch him. _Bones of the Gods, what would **touching** him be like? _she wondered.

That tingle of fear again—excitement, dread, uncertainty. Because she _didn’t_ know what touching him would be like. The desire that people would term passion or lust? It was foreign to her. She understood what her body was suggesting she do, but couldn’t fathom how these thrilling feelings fit in there.

 _Sex had never had **these** feelings thought, _she thought with confusion. Theoretically she knew that was not true for everyone. Her time in the vampire court and the villages had shown her that sex could be something to be desired, something people would do foolish and sometimes insane things to acquire.

She couldn’t understand it and had assumed it just wasn’t in her nature. For her, intercourse had only been something to dread and suffer through, when it could not be avoided. That was centuries ago. She’d tucked sex away with her human bloodletting, never to be a part of her life again. Belmont had made her reconsider it less than two weeks ago.

 _She was having feelings, damn him,_ she reflected anxiously. Feelings that she’d only read about, but had no idea she could experience. She didn’t know how to resolve it. She didn’t know if she could. She didn’t trust herself to find out. _She knew what sex was,_ she thought, _but these sensations were something else._

When she turned around to tell him about the goblins, to point out the crag in the distance, it had hit her with the force of the sun. _Just **look** at him, _she’d thought. _All those long, tough muscles pulled taut and hard. Biceps curved, sinuous knots under silky skin. Hips thrust forward; thighs tensed. Eyes closed, long lashes shielding the storm for only a second. A look of bliss and lips parted for capture._

His stretch deepened, the lashes flew open and she was pinned by that sodalite & lead gaze. She became hyper-aware of the fabric of his pants constricting as he stretched. It didn’t disgust her or terrify her—it gave her a prickling sensation on her neck that coiled down her spine like warm water. She was salivating.

 _Good Gods, I **want** him, _she realized with stunning insight.

She couldn’t lie to herself, she never could. She wanted to know if she might feel safe if he put his hands on her. Wanted to know if she could trust him. Wanted to know if there might be even more to feel, to experience than this pleasing, exciting tingle. Would he ‘listen to her breathe’? _Suffer well, Laura._

Hearing his words as though he was speaking down a long hall and through stone, she heard his “Everything alright?” but couldn’t actually understand the words.

“What?” she asked thickly. Meeting his eyes, she felt deep shame. She felt her blush, and burned with self-loathing.

 _You aren’t for him,_ she told herself sternly. _He is a good man who loved—loves his wife. It doesn’t matter that she is gone, he loves her for who she was. A human, a good person, someone who isn’t a monster. Meet his gaze, have the conversation, press on. Don’t let him see it._

 **_It_ ** _was impossible. **This** was impossible._

They travelled in silence past the crag and into the fringes of Veros Woods. Although they heard two bands of goblins, they were able to avoid them in time. As the night wore on, despite her sharp eye and doubling back to a promising hole in the cliffside, the only shelter that they were able to find that could protect her was a half-crushed goblin hovel. It smelled horrid and the roof had to be leaned against the walls to create a shelter.

They spent a good two hours collecting underbrush as quietly as possible and stuffing it into the gaps and cracks to ensure that it was as light-tight as possible. She crawled under and opened her eyes wide. Gabriel walked around it with a torch to ensure she would be safe. She scuttled back out and sighed.

When she spoke, it was a low murmur, “I’m sorry this has been so ridiculous. If it wasn’t so unbelievably noisy, I could have just cut myself a sleep den.”

“Do you do that often?” he whispered back, untying the rope that secured the packs together and tossing her the black satchel containing her clothes and personal gear. He pulled out his pallet and started untying it.

She gave a shake of her head and realized that the glow of the torch was not enough for him to see her. “No, I despise it actually. You feel like you are buried alive, all the dirt pressing on you, the dark absolute, no air to breath or think. You are _dead_. Well, you know what I mean anyway.” _Great Laura, really brilliant,_ she chided herself. _The undead is dead. Good for you._

“I do, although we both know, you know better than I do.” His smile was gentle and removed the bite the words had held for her. Her stomach curled up like a cat in the sun when he grinned.

“Do you dig it with your claws? How long does it take?” he asked, setting the items down and reaching for the next bag.

She considered, “It really depends on the vampire and the soil. For me, with this soil?” She squatted down, extended one black talon and scratched the earth. “I’d say 90 minutes to cut one that would do the job. And yes, the claws help tremendously, although a spade is more effective in my opinion.”

“A spade? Do you just have one lying around?” he looked taken aback.

She couldn’t help the smugness. _Just watch this, Belmont_ , she thought. She was always prepared and she’d known that she might have to dig a sleep den. She skirted around him to the brace of sacks now on the ground. She found the one she needed, a tan burlap with a red stripe, and opened the flap. She rifled for a minute and pulled out an odd bundle tied with twine. Kneeling down, she pulled the twine apart.

There was an arm’s length branch that had the bark removed and had been smoothed down with sand and her claws. It had a funny knob on one end, a sphere with grooves carved into it and a modified shovel--a fourth of a shield she’d cut in half. She’d rimmed it in metal that she’d heated and hammered into place. It wasn’t pretty but it was sturdy.

There was another arm’s length branch with a hollow and grooves at one end and a flattened end on the other. She had a coil of metal in her hand about as long as his thumb and twice as wide. There was an indentation in the middle with rope tied into it.

She saw his face and knew he was intrigued. _It’s that curious, intimidating, magnificent brain,_ she thought with pleasure, _he just can’t help himself_.

“What is that?” he asked.

She knew she had a twinkle in her eye when she teased, “You don’t know? _**I**_ found something that Gabriel Belmont _doesn’t_ know?”

He was obviously distracted, eying the pieces on the ground, “I probably just forgot.” She rolled her eyes, _his male ego sometimes_.

The vampire started to lay the pieces out so he could see what it was. She was very proud of this one; she’d made it herself specifically for this trip. Laura was startled when he knelt down beside her. She could have put her hand out and touched him. He hadn’t been this close to her since the second night of their journey. Since she slapped him.

Laura could tell he hadn’t noticed yet, or perhaps didn't care how close they were. He’d already started to put the pieces together. She swallowed hard, watching his hands work on instinct to discover, coax, test. _Gentle but persistent; would that be how he would touch a lover?_ she wondered.

But it’s Gabriel Belmont’s face that provoked liquid fire to pool in her belly. His concentration is magnetic, compelling, commanding. Laura can _feel_ his control and insight. She has seen this from him before but never this close, never felt the heat and weight of it. To imagine his concentration might be the same as he touched her. She didn't believe it will ever would be or could be turned to her, but can only melt into the idea of it. It was devastating.

 _Remember the book?_ Her brain offered helpfully. _Oh my Gods, did she ever. It was tormenting her now. She imagined him pouring over it just like this. Taking it all in, working it through his head, making notes in the margins, imagining how to go about it. **Then** , actually **using** it on…Marie. _

Her shame came again. _That’s right,_ _he is not for you, Laura,_ she lectured herself. _He never will be_. _Accept it._ The sad thing is she would. She was used to denying herself, and she would get used to ignoring this. _He was just so damned close,_ she thought _._

He reached over and took the piece from her hand without thinking. When his fingertips brushed her palm lightly, they left trails of longing in their wake. Her palm prickled with sensation, warmth and pleasure. Belmont’s gaze flew up and she was lost in the storm. Without thinking about it, her lips parted and his eyes dropped to them. He recoiled from her in surprise. In one swift, heartbreaking moment she realized her fangs were peeking out. _Monster,_ the cruel voice inside of her whispered.

“I’m sorry!” she cried, immediately ramping down to a hushed, “I’m so sorry!” She leapt to her feet, prepared to give him twenty feet of space, but he met her there. He put out a hand to restrain her but never actually made contact, just paused and hovered. _He can’t even touch you; you are revolting,_ she thought dejectedly.

“Laura, no, I— **I** am sorry.” He still clutched the piece that he’d taken from her, and waved it in the air.

“I forgot where I was and I was startled when I saw you. Mea culpa!* It happens when I get too focused. It was my fault. I just didn’t…” he swallowed. “I didn’t realize how close we were, it was… unexpected.”

 _I’ll bet,_ she thought bitterly.

“Please, I’m sorry. I’m really interested in this and where it came from,” he took his hand back, but kept his eyes on hers.

It was the ‘ _please_.’ Even if he thought her grotesque, he would treat her with politeness. It was pure decency, which was a weak point with her. So she sat down, and told him about her tinkering with gardening tools. How she had constructed multiple versions of a collapsible spade in preparation for this trip. Which books she’d consulted for ideas on the grooves and how they would connect. The strengthening metal loop with twine to brace the shaft, which had been her idea.

She’d tried to suppress the furl of pride it gave her when he looked impressed and told her that it was a clever piece of work. They were packing it back up when he asked her what else she had tucked away in there. Riding on the high of his compliment, she responded with a cheeky, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” without thinking about how it might come across. _You idiot, that sounds like flirting and you only meant…_

He laughed, really laughed. She was captivated all over again. It was such a lovely, rich sound. A fresh rain on parched land; a spike of light in the darkness surrounding them. It was over far too soon and she wanted it again.

“Da, te rog!* I would actually.” He grinned at her, and her toes wiggled in response. Always aware of the impending sunshine, she’d promised to go through the bags with him later and familiarize him with their supplies. To be honest, she should have done it earlier, but there just hadn’t been the right moment.

Later, when she crawled into the muddy, goblin-stink of her bed, she felt a lingering happiness from his laugh and the gorgeous sound of it. It faded away as she remembered his violent flinch away from her.

_He made her feel things, yes, but she could not trust them. Feelings would hurt her._

_\----_

So, wait for me  
I'll tell you all the words that I mean  
'Cause every time you're close, I can't breathe  
So, won't you wait for me  
I promise that I won't let you down  
Can't bring yourself to say it out loud  
So, whisper that you're there for me  
Stay, say what you want to me  
I see your tears falling don't you know I won't treat you that way  
Stay, so please stay  
Lost inside your mind and I found places that can make you feel again  
- _“Wait for Me,”_ Jack Curley _  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Mea culpa =my fault/my blame. Da, te rog!= yes, please!  
> \---  
> I just want to cuddle Laura. She's been through a lot and lord knows, if I saw Gabriel Belmont in close quarters constantly I would be an absolute puddle by now.  
> \---  
> Art of female with roses: Natalie Shae. Sketch of male: "Drawing Tips for Beginners" (creative license use). Forest and rose photos from Pexels.


	13. God is singing through your body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then his back moved in a deep, contented sigh and she understood. _He was sleeping,_ she thought incredulously. Terror slid to anger and dialed down to annoyance and relief, before dawning awareness when she really looked. Gabriel Belmont was very naked. And very gorgeous.
> 
> She felt her blush rise and her throat close but she couldn’t look away. _This was fine,_ she thought, struggling for neutrality. _It was almost innocent really, like admiring a painting or another work of art. One that you wanted to lick all over._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Trigger Warning: Fantasy of vampire bite, mention of immolation (no description)_ **   
>    
> 

The campsite simply reeked. There was no way around it. Gabriel had learned to tolerate most things but that goblin hovel gave off a particularly foul stench. He felt sorry for Laura who was quite literally in the thick of it under her shelter. She’d refused to take her pallet or her blanket in with her, saying she’d never get the smell out. She seemed meticulous about her cleaning regime and he can only imagine the bath she would have to take to…

 **No.** _No imagining the bath!_ He told himself sternly. _No thinking about generous curves, sinking into wet depths and certainly no wondering what kind of gasp she might make._

The night before, after they’d said goodnight, he’d laid semi-aroused on his pallet outside of her shelter for longer than he knew. His bed was physically closer than he’d been before. The site was small and contained as they tried to make less of a presence in the heart of goblin territory. He’d listened to her make little noises of frustration and shifting around.

His shadow voice had gleefully re-interpreted them into sounds she might make if he was in there with her. The images had been painfully glorious—sweat, teeth and tongue on writhing, full curves sheathed in sleek, pale skin—and he’d finally had to put his pillow over his head.

 _He was at the point of insanity if he was imagining something erotic happening in that space,_ he thought with despair. _It smelled like someone set a sheep on fire and decided to boil it with a side of rat droppings._ But he _was_ at the point of insanity. He had no idea how he was going to make it the remaining weeks.

He only knew that what he and his shadow voice wanted was starting to bleed together. It should have terrified him. But it didn't.

Like last night, when he’d been unprepared and unguarded for looking up into her face and his thirst for her roared into full-bodied awareness with all his shields down. He’d seen Laura’s eyes first, open, unguarded, moss dripping in a secret grotto. He thought he saw desire in them, a keen light edged in uncertainty. He’d been plunged into the ruby waters of lust before he could catch his breath. Her scent had bloomed into his face as though she’d spritzed him with it.

 _But then,_ _God’s teeth, her **mouth**_ **,** he groaned silently.

Laura had parted her lips and it was like all the air sucked out of his lungs in one huge heave. He was close enough to see the slight wetness on them, the light purple of the inner skin that trailed away into the humid abyss. He’d imagined putting one blunt finger on that slick, sulky lip and tracing it down into her wet mouth. Feeling the tip of her clever tongue. Tracing her fangs with his fingertip, feeling the sharp point.

 _Piercing it on her fang and watching her eyes blow open as she tastes my blood._ The shadow voice had ambushed him, jerking him back to what he was doing. What he was _thinking._

He’d been alarmed by the rising excitement at the thought, and had startled poor Laura badly. He felt guilty that she thought she’d done something wrong but he was struggling with what he’d imagined. _I don’t want her to drink my blood,_ he thought fiercely, _I don’t want to touch her fangs._

That was a part of her that he would never accept. He **still** didn’t know if he believed her about not drinking human blood. Even more troubling was that he **wanted** to believe her. He liked the parts of her that he was coming to know and it would be too easy to become friends if he could genuinely believe her…

But no, there was no way.

He’d finally fallen asleep after arguing with himself for what felt like hours. Thankfully the shadow voice had kept comments to a minimum. The sun woke him in the early afternoon. He was tired and the tent simply wasn’t thick enough to keep the sun out. He would move his blanket to compensate and then wake as the sun moved across the sky.

Bleary and grumpy, he crawled out into the sunshine and stretched. The night travelling was difficult, although adjusting his sleep actually was not. When you hunted creatures of the night you were awake in the dark more often than not. He’d always been good at adapting his body to the circumstance—sleeping, eating, fighting—but he could tell that this would be a long day.

He stirred the coals from the night fire, pleased to find two that could be coaxed back into life. He boiled water and pulled out a small sack of oats. Dividing the water, he put half in a wooden bowl and half in a solid earthenware mug. He added the oats to the water and stirred them up. While they thickened, he checked on their horses, crooning to them in a near whisper, mindful of the noise as he moved their tethers to fresh grazing.

Returning to his breakfast, he pulled out the pouch of tea leaves and scowled at the scraps left inside. There was barely enough here for his cup of tea and he knew Laura would want one to hold and warm her hands when she got up. He was sure that they had more somewhere though. He just wasn’t sure which bag.

 _Laura had said we’d look over the bags this evening, what could it hurt to look for the tea now?_ he thought. _I won’t go in her bags, that’s just invasive; but the rest should be fine._ His stomach rumbled loudly and he changed his plan. _First breakfast then the bags._

As it worked out, he didn’t get to the bags at all that day. The hot tea had opened his nostrils up and he realized that he had not been spared the vile reek of the hovel. A quick sniff of his pallet had confirmed this. Even the canvas of the tent had a distinctly foul scent.

He might have shrugged it off if not for the fact that goblins can be territorial; carrying this unknown goblin scent further into warring tribes’ territories could be dangerous. It also smelled heinous and disgusting. Also, he didn’t want it to become permanent. Also…

 _Fine! It would also bother Laura,_ he silently acknowledged. She was incredibly sensitive to scent. He was under no illusions that she would bathe first thing upon waking up. For the first time since starting the trip, she had not bathed last night. He suspected it was because she knew it would be fruitless given the reek. Still, it’d been a toss up to him if she would still bathe and then just bathe again in the morning.

He wanted to ask her about it; it seemed almost compulsive. But it seemed like such a personal thing to ask about. _The kind of thing she might tell him she was not ready to talk about,_ he thought.

He tied everything into a bundle and slipped one of his cakes of soap into the pack. He gathered a change of clothes, put his boots on, strapped his belt and the combat cross on and hesitated at his armor. A quick sniff confirmed it didn’t smell of goblin but he was sure it would if he put it on his stinking night clothes.

He decided to forego it and prayed that he wouldn’t regret the choice. He piled everything on one of the horses and cinched up. He planned on riding to the lake that was about a half a league away.

He paused, eyes flicking over to where she lay. Laura would be alone in the daytime, in a makeshift shelter. She would be alarmingly helpless if anything should happen. After a quick internal debate, he walked over the crushed hovel and squatted down.

“Laura?” he whispered. No response.

“Laura.” Nothing.

“Laura, come on, I know you are in there.” There was a distinctly irritated huff that made his lips curve up. “It’s still daylight; don’t come out," he said. "I need you to be awake though, and listening.”

A long silence, then a grunt followed by the sound of creaking limbs and a throaty squeal. He could see her in his mind’s eye, stretching like a cat waking from a nap in the sun. Only this cat napped in the dark. Rustling and a random scratching sound. _Maybe an itch on her neck?_ He felt his smile widen to a grin. _Why was this little dance so charming?_ he asked himself.

Then her voice, midnight embraces by the light of the full moon, “I’m awake. What’s going on?”

“I have to leave the camp to go wash up. I wanted you awake and aware because it’s mid-afternoon and you’ll have no cover if anything happens,” he said.

No response. _Awake my ass,_ he thought and gave an edge to his tone. “ **Laura.** Do you understand? I might be a while.” With regret seeping into his voice, “I have to wash a considerable amount of laundry that smells like goblin ass now.”

A little snorted half-giggle. “My, my, you do get around.”

“Revolting, and also, nicely done considering you just woke up,” He grinned. “May I remind you that you are going to emerge from there smelling like goblin ass too, but from the inside?”

A pained groan, “Low blow, Belmont.”

“Just stating the facts, my Lady.” He couldn’t help his smirk. _I won,_ he thought with satisfaction.

Thoughtful now, she spoke. “I have my swords here in case I need them. Lay out my pallet under the tree line directly behind me, I’ll listen for where you set it up. If I am truly in danger, I can mist to it and scream bloody murder. It would bring a hoard down on us but it would be something.”

Gabriel frowned; he didn’t like it. “You’d be badly burned and most likely dead in that scenario.”

Laura’s sigh was small, “Honestly, I am if the camp is attacked at all, whether you are here or not. There simply would be no where else for me to go, if this shelter is broken.”

The truth of her words sunk in, and he clenched his jaw. _She knew the risk and took it anyway,_ he thought with mounting anger. _Didn’t this woman care about her safety at all? You didn’t see him camping in a burning inferno without a care. How could she sleep in there knowing she might never wake up?_

Temper in full swing, he gritted out, “We **will** build you a sleep den if you have to rest in the open like this in the future. We are never doing this again.”

“We couldn’t risk the noise,” that calm voice told him.

 _Fuck that_ , he thought. “ **Bullshit** Laura, that’s insane,” he hissed at her, venom seeping into the words. “At least if something attacked in the night while you were digging, you could fight. You’d be safe in the daytime then too.”

“Belmont, are you…” she cleared her throat, “are you mad at me?”

“Brilliant observation, my Lady. I am furious with you! You shouldn’t be taking such a risk!” he said, exasperated.

“Why?” she sounded genuinely puzzled and he bit his lip, caught in the simple question.

 _Why indeed, Belmont? Why **should** you care if she died?_ He asked himself. _I don’t, not really..._ It would actually make his life much simpler and less conflicted. And yet… “How will I complete this mission on my own? I need you for entrance into Carmilla’s castle.”

 _You are a liiiiiar_ , his shadow mind crooned to him in a singsong voice.

 _Shut up, it is true,_ he shot back.

 _But is it the whole truth?_ it snickered.

“Of course,” she sounded oddly neutral, “Nothing should endanger the mission. Go on Belmont, I will remain safe enough until your return.” He was quiet, disconcerted by the whole exchange. She spoke again, “There are soap nuts for laundry in the olive-green satchel, which is in the larger black bag with the red embroidered flower. They’ll work far better than your soap on the blanket.”

“I didn’t even know we had those! We really need to go through the supplies Laura.” He couldn’t help it, the annoyance that he felt seeped into the words.

“I know. We will tonight. Now go.” Another shifting sound from inside the hovel.

“Do you need anything washed?” he asked, thinking he might as well check.

Disgusted grunt, “Every inch of my skin, my hair, this nightshift? Maybe my eyeballs at this rate.”

 _I volunteer!_ Shouted his shadow mind.

“If you can pass me your shift, I can wash it.” _And try not imagine you naked in the dark without it,_ he thought, already imagining.

“No. Thank you, though. There is no room for me to take it off in here. I’ll wash it when I bathe this evening.”

He’d been right about the bath. He nodded and realized she couldn’t see him. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Some time later, Gabriel stretched out, naked and warming in the sun. His horse was picking her way through the grass and the occasion happy whicker told him progress was being made. The laundry was all done, draped across bushes and tree limbs drying in the afternoon heat. Laura had been right about the soap nuts, they’d worked wonderfully.

Despite the cold water, he’d taken extra care with bathing every inch of his skin and even used the soap nuts to wash his hair. The lather had been lovely and smelled faintly citrus. Gabriel felt truly clean for the first time in days. Rather than using his linen, he’d found a giant rock warmed by the sun. He’d spread out, combat cross beside his head.

He’d kept an ear out for Laura, but his concern had greatly subsided on his trip to the lake. The path was a virtual straight line between the two spots and he could gallop back in less than a minute if needed. Besides that, the forest was incredibly still; he would hear a goblin war cry from miles away. He yawned, drowsy in the baking heat that was working its way into his bones.

\---

Laura woke with the horrible feeling that something was wrong. The ground had gone cold and there was no faint glow of the sun against the underbrush of her shelter. There was no snap of a fire, no low sounds of Gabriel Belmont moving around. Everything was deadly quiet and her entire being went on high alert. She recalled their afternoon conversation and had fallen asleep within minutes after that.

 _Had he come back from the lake?_ She didn’t think so. _Maybe he is just really terrible at laundry? But this was at **least** three hours of laundry. No one was that helpless. Especially not Gabriel Belmont. _She’d been pleasantly surprised at his competence with cleaning and cooking. In her opinion he desperately needed to use some spices in his meal preparations, but that could just be a personal preference. Otherwise she honestly couldn’t complain.

She extended one talon under the edge of the hovel and lifted it. A tiny sliver of twilight peeked through and she lifted higher. There was a blush in the sky, maybe thirty minutes of fading sunlight left. She should be fine. She threw the shelter to the side and leapt up, short swords in hand, the Medusa’s heads snarling for battle. The camp was decidedly empty but not abandoned. Everything was still out and in various states of disarray.

 _He had not come back from the lake,_ she thought with alarm _._ With supernatural speed and as quiet as the wind, she tore through the wooded stretch between the camp and the lake, slowing just as the water came into view. His mount was tethered to a tree and appeared to be napping. His blanket, pallet, tunic, pants were cast about over various flora, obviously strewn about in an effort to dry them.

She saw him and everything narrowed down to a split second of terror. He was dead, facedown on the rock; one arm thrown out with his combat cross loose in his grasp. She was staggered by the utter despair that hurtled through her. It ripped through her like an axe intent on evisceration, emptying everything good inside onto the ground for the birds to feast upon.

Then his back moved in a deep, contented sigh and she understood. _He was sleeping_ , she thought incredulously. Terror slid to anger and dialed down to annoyance and relief, before dawning awareness when she _really_ looked. Gabriel Belmont was very naked. And very gorgeous.

She felt her blush rise and her throat close but she couldn’t look away. _This was fine,_ she thought, struggling for neutrality. _It was almost innocent really, like admiring a painting or another work of art. One that you wanted to lick all over._

 _The man **was** a work of art,_ she thought as lust tripped through her, prickling under her skin and tingling between her thighs. Her original impression of a war horse had been the right one. Maybe even a Roman gladiator. Build for battle and destined for survival by iron and blood.

She knew he was tall, but this was something else. His powerfully built frame extended on for what seemed like _forever._ Lanky limbs dusted with auburn hair were sprawled out and relaxed. There were acres of tan skin stretched over thick muscles, dipping into precise curves and tight lines.

She had to admit Belmont had truly incredible shoulders. Beautiful in their strength and shape, his muscles were like pythons curled up under his skin. Smooth, dangerous and tough, all wrapped up in glistening skin. _By all the saints, his back could span her kitchen table,_ she thought, unaware she was holding her breath. 

He had some scars, but not as many as she would have guessed. The lack of blemishes was simply another testament to his prowess in battle. There was one particularly long one on the back of his thigh. She took three steps closer. It was a long, splintered curve that spanned one thick thigh the size of a tree trunk and disappeared into the press of the rock.

It looked like the bite mark of a canine. Given his line of work, probably lycan or a werewolf; it was hard to say. There really was no distinction between the marks left by lycans, beasts that lived their entire lives as wolves, and werewolves, man-beasts that transformed back and forth between their wolf form and human form. It had healed to almost nothing so it could have also just been a large dog.

Belmont shifted minutely and her gaze traveled up. _That **ass,**_ she thought with a gulp. Each cheek was almost perfectly round and the whole thing looked like the cleft of a peach, or maybe two juicy blueberries squished together. _Juicy, now that was the right word,_ she thought as her skin heated fiercely. His skin flowed over the curves like river water smoothing over a stone.

 _She wanted to just **bite** it, _she thought, exhaling in a rush. _Run my teeth down the contour and skim my claws along the deep, velvety cleft._ _His ass was made for clasping with both hands. **My hands** —talons digging into that gorgeous skin, feeling his muscle flex under my palms while I urge him to thrust deeper, harder, faster…_

She sucked in her breath and closed her eyes. Her whole body shuddered at that image and she could feel an answering tension from between her thighs. She shouldn’t be staring and she shouldn’t be thinking this. _Well,_ _if the man wanted to sleep naked out in the open,_ she thought, _he should be prepared that people might see him._

She realized she was absently running her hand down her breast, her nipple peaking in anticipation. Disgusted with herself, she jerked her hand away. _Pretty sure he didn’t mean for **you** to see this, _she told herself firmly. _Pretty sure he’d be seriously disturbed to wake up and see you. Especially touching yourself and watching him._

How would she go about waking him? _You go over there, roll him over, hike up your skirt and mount him like the Roman god he is,_ her brain automatically replied. _You ride him like he’s Apollo’s chariot and you are two hours late for waking the sun._

She was torn with intrigue and alarm. It was so clear and abrupt that it was something that she **_wanted_** to do. She wanted to _feel_ it.

It couldn’t happen. It _wasn’t_ happening. No, it wasn’t, but oh, that was something to think about. Preferably alone.

She decided she was going to go back to camp, get her bathing gear and come noisily down the path. She did desperately need a bath and it seemed believable? Maybe whistling? Maybe calling for him? Maybe…

He stretched, shoulders rippling, back arching, that _unreal_ ass clenching and she fled like she was two hours late for waking the sun. She’d figure it out how to wake him from somewhere safer.

\--- 

Don't hold back, I want to break free  
God is singing through your body  
And I'm carried by the sound  
Every drum, every single beat  
They were born from your body  
And I'm carried by the sound  
Oh, ooh, love  
They'll never break the shape we take

- _“Slip Away," Perfume Genius_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sunscreen is your friend, especially on your happy bits. Gabriel is gonna feel it tomorrow. Also, I know I speak for all of us when say Laura has way more control than I do. I know I would have tackled that man before he knew what happened, combat cross be damned. He could thank me later.  
> \---  
> Also, in the interests of science, you should know that this ass exists in the real world. I’ve seen it up close and personal and lived to tell the tale. It’s _glorious!_  
>  \---  
> Sketches from Pixaby and moss from Pexals.


	14. You're telling me something real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like a sorceress over her cauldron, she added in a pinch of this and a shake of that. But instead of sparkling explosions or swirling fog, scent poured out. He couldn’t deny it smelled divine, but he was still struggling with the idea that she’d brought a whole rucksack of spices instead of more food, or wine of which they had none, or rope and tackle, or… She settled across from him and opened the satchel wide. “What do you know about herbs, Belmont?”
> 
> “They make food taste good?” he said sarcastically.
> 
> She spoke to him like he was a small and rather slow child, “Yes, good. I see we shall need to start from the beginning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warning:// Brief mention of animal rendering for the purposes of cooking.**

It was raining out. Gabriel had a soggy cloak, soggy pack, soggy horse and water in his boots. Worse, it was pitch black and muddy. Their pace was a snail’s crawl and they were still in goblin territory. The only good thing was they didn’t have to worry about noise. Nothing could be heard past five feet in this monsoon.

Laura was in her fucking _element_. She was chirping like a bird, saying more in the last thirty minutes than she had in the three hours before it. It was infuriating and—although he would die before admitting it—utterly adorable. Apparently, she _loved_ the rain and loved being out in it. Of course, _she_ could see just fine despite the lack of moonlight and torrential showers. She was animated and just thrilled to be explaining how something called a rain barrel worked and how it could be utilized for watering crops during the dry season.

He was half listening to her words but mostly just listening to her voice. It was odd actually. He normally was fascinated by new things, but with the downpour he was only catching every third word anyway. He didn’t want to damper her enthusiasm or force her to shout— _he’d heard plenty of that already_ , he thought with a wry grin. So instead he was in a dream-like state of pure tone, depth, cadence as communication.

Gabriel liked listening to her, even like this. There was so much in her voice and the pure happiness in it made him feel relaxed and warm. Of course, it was better when he could actually understand what she was saying. He learned something new every day. Laura’s experience and knowledge was staggering, yet she always was interested in learning more. Understanding the world a little better. He could relate to it. From what he had heard of her libraries, she loved books as much as he did. She knew a little bit of everything and an enormous number of specific things. For example, anything to do with herbs.

He’d known from the dinner at Peter’s that Laura was a skilled healer. She’d been able to hold an incredibly intricate conversation about fever medicines with him that most of the Brotherhood’s healers would have been lost in. How he’d missed that her love of herbs extended to their scent and taste, he didn’t know. He’d watched her sniff human food without a clue.

He’d been cooking when it had slapped him in the face just a few days ago. He’d started asking for her help with the evening meals. Her speed made preparation incredibly fast and he found that they worked well together. Laura had brought him a rabbit and helped him remove the bones from the meat. It had been chilly and he wanted to make a stew. 

He’d tossed some fat into the pot and seared the meat. He added in the diced yams, carrots, onions, and a slender green vegetable Laura had found when she’d bathed. She’d called it a water chestnut. He added in some salt. When everything was lovely and browned, he’d reached over to their pail to add water into the pot when she’d asked, “Aren’t you going to spice it?”

When he’d turned to look at her, she’d looked embarrassed and was studying the pot intently. “I only meant that we have a supply of herbs and you never use them.” She coughed lightly, and shrugged.

“Where? I haven’t seen them?” he’d asked.

“They are in the black bag.” She gestured towards their bags piled at the end of a fallen tree. The tree had uprooted a massive hole in the ground and hung down over it like a shaggy curtain. They’d dug even further into the softened ground at the very back and made a hollow large enough for Laura to crawl headfirst into. They would seal it with the pile of bags and drape the canvas tent over that. He would sleep on the other side of the bags.

“The one with the tent, or the one with the medicines?” he asked.

“The medicines are in the yellow and blue bag.” Her eyebrows were fused in the center. He was clearly missing something.

He stopped what he was doing and sat back. _Why was she staring at him like that, how was he supposed to know?_ “Then what is in the black bag?” he asked slowly.

“The spices!” She looked at him like he was slow in the head.

He gave her a withering look. “ _This._ This is why I want to go through the bags, Laura!” His exasperation made him raise his voice.

“Okay, okay, you are right.” She put up her hands in surrender and flapped her hands at him to hush. “Let’s get supper done first; let me get the herbs.”

She brought back the black bag, the size of a small dog and set it on the ground beside him. “For rabbit, you’ll want mustard, rosemary, bay leaf, garlic…” she started putting little satchels on the ground with tiny embroidered lettering. He gaped. He’d thought she meant supply of herbs as in pepper, thyme and _maybe_ some rosemary.

“That _entire thing_ is spices?” he couldn’t keep the incredulous note out of his voice.

The look she gave him could only be described as pitying. “Gabriel, there is a whole world of scent, uses and flavors that you are missing out on.”

“Yes, but the _whole bag?”_ They’d been carrying a whole rucksack of spices around _for scent and flavor?_

Laura sighed. “Here, let me finish this and get the water in.” She gathered a handful of the little sacks and went over to the pot.

Like a sorceress over her cauldron, she added in a pinch of this and a shake of that. But instead of sparkling explosions or swirling fog, scent poured out. He couldn’t deny it smelled divine, but he was still struggling with the idea that she’d brought a _whole rucksack_ of spices instead of more food, or wine of which they had _none_ , or rope and tackle, or… She settled across from him and opened the satchel wide. “What do you know about herbs, Belmont?”

“They make food taste good?” he said sarcastically.

She spoke to him like he was a small and rather slow child, “Yes, good. I see we shall need to start from the beginning.”

“Hey, play nice. I know some things. I know that some have medicinal value, which _you know_ that I know. Obviously, some can be used for scenting items _.” He wasn’t defensive, was he?_ he thought.

“Yes. Exactly. Except it’s not just some, it’s all. Every single herb and pretty much every plant serves multiple functions. Flavor, scent, dye, medicine and poison—this is the power and beauty of herbs.”

“Every single one?” He reached into the bag at random and pulled out one lettered **Cinnamon.** “What does this one do?”

“That one is delicious with breads, pig and apples. It smells like watching a mother hug her child. It helps with upset stomachs and infections of the bowel. You should smell it.”

He definitely wanted to know how something could _smell_ like watching a mother hug her child. He untied the top and stuck his nose in. Belatedly, Laura screeched, “Not like that!” but he’d already taken a huge whiff.

It was only her quick reflexes that saved the cinnamon from dumping all over. He coughed, snorted, hacked. With his eyes burning and face on fire, Laura thumped his back and laughed herself into hiccups. When his dry heaves had subsided, she brought him several mugs of water, one of which she convinced him to use on his face before opening his eyes. After drying his face with a cloth, she told him he could open his eyes. When he did open them and could see again, she was crouched in front of him, lips firmed together, chin quivering and emeralds positively shining with mirth.

He hadn’t thought, just reacted. He’d leapt up and playfully tackled her to the ground while she’d gasped in shock. He’d intended to tickle her, capture more of that lovely laugh. He hadn’t realized his mistake until it was too late. She was under him, soft, fragrant and vibrant. He could feel the cradle of her spacious hips; an invitation to indulgence that would make a strong man beg. These were hips that were made to meet a man thrust for thrust, to give as good as they got and lay waste to sanity. He could feel the heat of her through his chausses and thought he might beg.

His shadow mind whispered, _Taste her. Everywhere._

Her breath quickened, ribs dancing alongside his before giving way to the blissful push of her ridiculously sumptuous breasts. He could smell her, even through the cinnamon, a fresh tingle to his senses that enticed him, made his head spin.

The shadow voice spoke again. _We could give her so much. We could take so much._

Her eyes were wide, wet ivy in the rain. Lips parted, an entrance into that wet dark heaven; small panting breaths that stoked his desire to fever pitch. He could swear those hips rocked into him in the slightest undulation. Her hand on his bicep flexed.

**_TAKE HER. SHE’S OURS._ **

Gabriel was reeling from the thundering command. The shadow mind was a constant companion but had never overwhelmed him like it did now. He’d never heard it speak like this and certainly not with such dark, intense possession. Everything in him strained toward ripping Laura’s tunic down the middle, baring pale skin and hidden secrets to licking, sucking, biting, fondling, devouring. Towards a wild, explosive consummation that would leave him drowning in her, emerging a new man.

_What **is** this?! _Gabriel shied away from it like a spooked horse. He _couldn't_ do this. He closed his eyes.

“Are you alright?” Laura’s hushed voice smoked over him.

 _You don’t even know if she **likes** you and you want to rip her clothes off? _He asked himself with disgust. _What about what she does, or doesn’t want? That matters! You aren’t an animal!_

 _Are you sure?_ The shadow whispered.

“Belmont, could you please let me up? I think your dinner is burning.” She gently pushed at him.

He leapt up as though she’d pricked him with a needle. He bent to offer her a hand. There was a definite tremble in hers when their palms met. Guilt swept through him. He’d probably scared her, again. _I just keep trampling **all over** her boundaries. You horse’s ass._ “Laura, I’m so sorry, I meant to just…”

“It’s fine, really!” She offered him a bright smile and busied herself with removing the pot and stirring the stew, adding water in little drips until she had a consistency she was happy with. He watched her, at a total loss of what to say, how to explain. Something about the set of her mouth told him to let it go. Instead he bent down to the spices and started putting them back in the bag. He ended up just squatting, holding two bags in his hands and staring sightlessly at them. **Coriander** in his right hand and **Mace** in the left.

Laura turned around and saw him, “No, that’s not right. It’s coriander and white pepper.” She hunted around for a minute and located the pepper, switching it out in his left hand. “Smell them together,” she paused, “gently this time.” The laughter was back in her eyes, and the tension eased between them. He relaxed slightly, and eager to get past the moment, obligingly sniffed. With an abundance of caution, of course.

A smell very similar to his soap, woody, warm, wafted up to him. “What’s this?”

She blinked in surprise, “I’m sorry, I thought you were looking for your smell!”

“My smell?” He was mystified.

She blushed, “Yes, um, this is what you smell like. The soap you use. It’s pepper and coriander.”

“What do you smell like?” he asked, instantly wishing he could take it back. Yes, that was the question you asked someone you just embraced without permission. _You complete bastard,_ he thought.

She looked non-plussed and then smiled, “Ah, mostly spearmint.” She bent again and found it from the depths of the sack. She passed it up to him to inhale. **_Yes._** There is was, that clean freshness that made his limbs tense and thighs tingle. There was something missing though, an effervescence that was lost.

“There is something else though, something alive smelling?” He looked down at her, reorganizing the sack. She looked up from her work. “Ummm, it would depend. I tend to use some other scents in combination with mint. Eucalyptus, petitgrain, lemon, rosemary… ,” she ticked them off her fingers. “Then there is the scent that the items around you gives you. Like leather or horses or smoke. Then there is the natural scent of a person to consider. Their own personal essence? That one I couldn’t help you with, not even yours! Believe me, I’ve tried to figure it out!”

 _She knows what you smell like._ That information did nothing to calm him down. _Stop it, she has a keen sense of smell…she likes fragrance…that’s all…_ **oh Lord have mercy,** he thought with real alarm, _what if she could smell his **arousal?** _He’d never considered that and for a moment he can feel faint flags of heat in his cheeks from mortification.

A look of alarm came over Laura’s face and she started shaking her head vehemently, “ _I’m not_ … I just like _scent_ , it wasn’t me—you know, doing—” she gestured helplessly before she closed her eyes and blurted out, “I wasn’t, I would never… _I didn’t smell you because I want to eat you!”_

It was so far from what Gabriel was thinking of and afraid of, that he had to laugh. “Laura, I never even thought that for a moment.” And the crazy thing was he _hadn’t._ So here he was, a few days later, in the middle of the downpour of the century and it’s still bothering him. _Why **hadn’t** he thought that? _It was the only question he had left from that night.

He’d already resolved the worry that she might smell his arousal. _Oh Lord, did I ever,_ he thought with chagrin. When they’d been on the road the following night, he’d decided the only way to know for sure was to test it. He’d deliberately pulled his mount alongside her and asked her to describe Carmilla’s castle again. He’d already known the castle inside and out, but needed a reason to get close and smell her.

As she’d talked, he’d allowed himself to have a searing vision of her kneeling over his head, exposed, wet and writhing above his mouth as firelight danced across her skin like his fingers. He’d pictured circling his tongue over her lips, tasting the heady desire slicked between them. It was torment to imagine what she would taste like, all sweet and fresh like her scent or dark and forbidden like her voice? It was over in less than ten minutes. In the middle of picturing her hips rolling in time with his shallowly thrusting finger, his tongue darting back and forth over the exquisitely tight bud contracting against his mouth and the taste of springtime on his tongue, he’d decided she _definitely_ couldn’t smell his desire. If she couldn’t smell the lust pouring off of him right now like a river overflowing its banks, then she couldn’t _ever_. His relief was seriously tempered by the knowledge that he would explode if he didn’t deal with this right **now**.

He’d abruptly veered off the path, dived off his horse and bolted into the forest. Laura had hissed after him in alarm and he’d tossed out, “Be right back!” He was _barely_ a decent distance away when he’d darted behind a huge tree, yanked his laces hard enough to rip the top outlet clean through and palmed his rigid cock. He was absurdly, _insanely_ aroused and it only took a minute—if that—the rough drag of his strokes, imagining Laura’s slick on his cheeks, her cries of pleasure, the flex of her thighs on his head… and he was coming.

It was a dark torrent that swamped his vision and scraped under his skin. Her name burst out in his mind, twining with pleasure and need. When the pulsing flood passed, he’d realized he’d barely taken the edge off. He would have to be very careful to guard his thoughts for the rest of the day or risk this happening again. He was still breathless when he’d made his way back to her. Gabriel had only realized the line he’d crossed when he saw her face. The sin he’d committed. _He’d come thinking of her._

_\---_

Is it real?  
We're always the same  
We're almost undone now  
I was caught in the rain  
Wasting my time on the ground  
It was you  
who could get me high  
With whatever you say  
You're telling me something real  
What we do  
It doesn't matter now  
Whatever it takes  
For you to stay with me  
 _\- ‘Caught In the Rain,’_ Revis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \---  
> Laura: Are you alright?  
> Gabriel: (mumbles) When ya gotta go, ya gotta go...
> 
> \---  
> Art of Gabriel from Konami, all rights are theirs. Forest shot from Pexels. Line art from Pixaby.


	15. Underneath this skin there's a human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had a vision of her smiling like that in the pale glow of the night sky an hour before the sun. Her limbs would be loose and soft from sleep, white cloud of hair tousled and tumbling around her across a pillow. Her taste would be like an awakening, morning dew on petals. She’d be pliant, soft, succumbing to his caresses and kisses with boundless generosity.
> 
> Laura would open for him like it was breathing; essential, comfortable, vital. She would be a gift of life and hope. When he would move inside her it would be completion, a rising of souls to clasp and twine into a new whole. It left him shaken, touched, stripped.
> 
>  _Where did that come from? That was more than just lust,_ he thought with trepidation. Those leaves against the gate of his heart were getting deep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TW: Brief mention of child physical abuse, no descriptions**   
> 

They were unloading for the night. Belmont was building a fire and Laura was brushing down the horses. It had finally stopped raining and they’d even found an abandoned lycan den for her sleep in. It was big enough that he could join her. _Not to be with her,_ she thought, _just to stay warm and dry._ So what, if her heart pounded when he’d asked how big it was inside the den, remarking that it might be nice not to sleep in the rain again. She’d straightened so abruptly that she’d rapped her head on the belly of his mount. The poor thing had snorted and turned her head to give Laura an accusing glare.

“In the den?” she’d squeaked and then cleared her throat, “it’s a good size, I think twice the size of your tent?”

“Ah, that’s good. Nice and roomy then. Is it dry inside or damp?” His back was to her and he was down on one knee watching the kindling catch fire after fighting with it for almost fifteen minutes. Everything was just so wet right now. _Truly everything_ , Laura thought, violently aware that the idea of sleeping in that intimate space beside Gabriel was turning her insides to warm honey.

She took a deep, steadying breath, “It’s dry and there is plenty of room, you should grab your pallet and come inside. It smells a like dog, but otherwise is quite pleasant.” She was impressed with her studied tone of nonchalance and her absolute _daring_. _Suffer well, Laura, I hope you know what you are doing._

“Great, thanks. I will do that. Maybe my pallet will even dry out.” He glanced over to her and she realized she was just standing there staring at him with the brush hanging at her side. She quickly snapped around and started brushing his horse with renewed vigor. The horse started again and with completely understandable annoyance, moved out from under her brush.

Laura decided she was done, no need to subject the horse to her further clumsiness. She turned back to the fire and propped the brush up to dry it out. “I promise to throw a shoe if you snore too loudly.” He said to her, catching her eye with a teasing smile.

“I don’t snore!” She stuttered, unsure if she did or not.

“I bet they all tell you tell that.” He quirked a brow at her.

“All what? I don’t und…” It dawned on her that he was making a joke about sleeping beside people and she couldn’t help herself. She laughed. _Gods, she hasn’t slept beside anyone since…ever?_ _The Master didn’t slee—NO, no, that was not welcome. She would not think of that._ Determinedly, she decided she would see if she could get another beautiful smile from Belmont and distract herself.

Laura rolled her eyes dramatically and gave an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, _those_ ‘all’. Ah, the _stories_ I could tell you about all...the copious beds…and the…orgies! Can’t forget about those! Just keeping _everyone_ satisfied... Every night’s a party at le château de Laura.” She giggled, she couldn’t even imagine it, it sounded so ridiculous. “Honestly, it’s all so exhausting, no wonder I snore.”

“I gather you are joking?” Gabriel mumbled at her attempted humour, a small, tight smile playing on his lips. He was gazing into the fire and tossed a handful of sticks onto it. _You aren’t sure?_ Laura thought. _Would it matter to him if she wasn’t joking? If only he knew…_

 _Whore,_ whispered the Master’s voice.

 _No! Go away! It’s just I can’t tell jokes very well._ Laura threw a stick at him, which caught his shoulder and made him laugh. It buoyed her sinking mood and she was able to keep her response light, “Of course I am joking, are you _kidding_ me. I can’t think of the last time I’ve had _anyone_ in my bed, much less had— _oh_!” She bit off what she was going to say with a snorted laugh, because she suddenly _did_ remember the last time she’d had someone in her bed.

Gabriel scented her out like a bloodhound, “Alright, _that_ has a story behind it. Let’s hear about the last time! Spill it!”

“It’s not even that great, honestly, it’s just terrible. Not worth mentioning.” Laura couldn’t stop the trembling line of her lips as she struggled not to grin.

“You are a _terrible liar_ , Laura, I want to hear this. What happened?” his eyes are on her, grin back and just a little dangerous. Gods he was gorgeous when he smiled like this, captivating with his naughty little smirk, glittering storms for eyes and rugged good looks. She wanted to nip his jaw where it met his ear. _Just a taste._

“There was a thing, an incident.” She managed, distracted by the line of his jaw.

“Like a scene?” Gabriel asked, leaning towards her.

“There was a tiny scene, yes.” Laura nibbled the side of her bottom lip and pretended it was his.

“Well **what happened?!** ” He said impatiently.

“It’s embarrassing. Really, I was not my best self.” Laura sighed, regretting mentioning this at all now.

Gabriel just looked up at her, shag shading his eyes. She sighed. “This was, I don’t know, maybe four hundred years ago—”

“Four _hundred_ years?! You haven’t slept with anyone…I mean to say, there hasn’t been— **what**?!” Gabriel’s face was amazement, pity, humour, disbelief and something else that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“Oh, shut it Belmont, I mean really. It’s not…I just haven’t…I… **Ugh,** never mind! ” Embarrassed, she kicked the dirt with the toe of her boot. In reality, it’s been twice as long but she doesn’t feel the need to share that with him in light of his reaction.

He cleared his throat, “I’m sorry, I seemed to have gotten off track. It was four hundred years ago and there was a scene.”

“Ah, yes. Well.” She cleared her throat. “I may have—just slightly, mind you—made a scene. The kind of scene that involves swords.”

Gabriel wiggled his eyebrows at her and flashed that devastating grin, “I’m listening.”

“Oh fine,” she huffed with a small smile, crouching down to poke one long fingernail into the dirt. “I was attending a lycan and vampire function at Agharta. There was a lycan who thought I wouldn’t be able to resist his…charms. So he crawled into my bed naked, and waited for me to return from the festivities. Apparently, he put great stock in his…charms.” She made a round-about gesture to her groin. “He scared the living daylights out of me, smelled hideous, and had, ugh, soiled my sheets while he waited.”

“I hope you beat his _ass_.” Belmont stated, vehemence laced in the words.

“I may have… _wounded_ the offending appendage, while,” she coughed delicately, “yelling obscenities.”

Gabriel winced, “I can completely understand it, but as another man, **_ow_**. Not that he didn’t deserve it. I have to ask though, ‘Obscenities?’, ah….as in…,” he raised one thick eyebrow.

“Why is this so important to you?” she asked him, finally meeting his gaze. She could have sworn there was a glint of menace in there, but his posture and smile radiated wicked humor.

“I find it best to be informed on what your ire looks like.” He stated blandly. “Also, you _never_ swear and I have a curious mind.”

She gave him a deadpan look and flatly said, “I called him a snake shit son of a wererat and told him that my Medusas should take care of that pathetic infestation of pus he called a dick.”

To his credit, Belmont managed to turn his laugh into a choke, and downgrade it to a cough. He could not, however, contain the fierce, toothy grin that took over his face. “By God, I bet that was something to see.” he said.

Laura found she could laugh too. “Needless to say, no lycan ever tried to climb into my bed again.”

“Good.” He said softly, stirring the fire again.

“I hate to break it to you Belmont, but this isn’t a real problem for me. Ever.” Laura said, exasperated.

“Hey, I happen to know that werewolves are randy as hell.” He shrugged, “Believe me, it’s a thing.”

“Alright, now _that_ has a story behind it!” she chortled, tossing his words back at him.

“Nope, not happening, don’t even try.” Belmont shook his head in mock sorrow.

“Oh, come on! That is not fair!” Laura crossed her arms like a pouting child. “I told you!”

Belmont just smiled. “Well _at least_ tell me about _your_ last time!” she flung out.

 _Oh Gods_. She immediately regretted it. _Laura, you imbecile. For the love of the saints, **how could you?**_ He looked like she’d kicked him in the liver. All the good humour in his face vanished like smoke. “Belmont, Gods, I’m an _idiot_. I didn’t…I wasn’t thinking. I’m so incredibly sorry. I’m—” Belmont just nodded and stood up, brushing his pants off and headed toward the bags. He started unpacking in earnest. _Good going Laura, way to ruin a good time,_ she thought to herself.

 _Isn’t that what you do?_ The Master whispered to her.

Laura hunched her shoulders and crept out of the campsite into the forest to find them some dinner and give him some space.

\---

He hadn’t handled it well.

When Laura had asked about his last time, he’d immediately been sucked back into the last day that Marie had been alive. What it had been like to lie beside her, touch her, know that he was loved. The sweetness of it was drowning in his dread, knowing that he would wake from that simple beauty to the world without Marie in it.

It had destroyed the lovely moment with Laura, but there was nothing he could say. He was afraid if he spoke it would all come gushing out. So, he hadn’t said anything. When he turned around, finally ready to try to explain, to apologize, Laura had been gone. He’d told himself that it was for the best and had just let it lie. But it continued to haunt him.

He kept remembering the giant pools of tortured empathy pouring from her verdant eyes, the way her lips twisted in anguish _for him_. The absolutely stricken tone with which she delivered her apology. The violence with which she called herself an idiot. How she’d left without a word afterwards.

He sighed. When she’d returned to the camp site, she’d silently handed him a defeathered duck, neck limply dangling. He was used to _her_ , but that broken neck always bothered him. It had left him without the words he’d been practicing. She had not met his eyes, only nodding when he’d thanked her. She didn’t seem to be ignoring him or angry, so much as lost in thought. He’d prepared the meal, leaving them both time and space for their thoughts.

Her bath had taken much longer than usual and he’d been cleaning up by the time she returned. She’d carried her pallet into the lycan den, and he thought she was just going to go straight to bed instead of talking for a while. They had fallen into the habit of conversing before bed. Nothing important but it was a nice ending to the day. He felt a pang of regret; he really looked forward to those times for a variety of reasons.

He was surprised when she re-emerged with her blanket draped around her shoulders and trailed over to the bags. She’d rooted through until she’d returned with a book, a quill and some ink. _Seriously, what **wasn’t** in those bags?_ He wondered. _Who cares if I packed the same thing, just in case? What if I needed to write something down?_ With a jolt he remembered that he packed it so he could write down how much he despised this vampire. He hadn’t had that thought since the first day.

He finished bundling his plate away and noticed the tea leaves. He understood peace offerings; this could be his. He got the pot and poured the last of their water into it. This would mean an extra trip to the pond in the morning, but it would be worth it. She settled down across the fire from him, bringing her knees up as a makeshift table, uncapping the ink and dipping the quill in. Everything was quiet except for the snap of the fire and the scratch of her quill.

He could hear her breathing, deep and steady. The darkness created a cavern around them, a safe nest of comfort and peace. The water boiled and he moved to get the mugs. “Are you making tea?” she asked him, curiosity in her voice. The scrape of her quill ceased.

“I thought we could both use something warm. I hope this one is alright; I don’t know what it is.” He made an exaggerated sniffing smell in her direction. “I don’t smell cinnamon.” Her soft snort went a long way to settling him.

“What color is the bag it’s in?” she asked him, peering past the fire.

“Ugh, red?” he peered at the bag. It was some weird brown red colour.

“Rust?” she asked and he nodded. “That’s vanilla and cardamom. It’s divine.” She furrowed her brow. “I’m pretty sure anyway. It smells like a warm bed after a restful sleep feels, so it should taste wonderful.”

He didn’t want to laugh at her, but his lips twitched, “Where do you come up with these descriptions?” A ripple of sadness passed over her face and he thought that she must have thought he was mocking her. “Honestly, I think they are charming, really! I’ve just never heard anyone describe smells like you do.”

She looked at him with a slight smile, “So many smells are related to how they might taste. I cannot taste them without becoming ill, so I find other things to relate them to. Feelings, other smells, touch…” She gave a restless shrug. 

“You can’t eat anything, at all?” he asked, wondering why that should seem so sad. She clearly loved food very much.

She shook her head. “No, my system is no longer made for it. When I became a vampire so many of my bodily functions were altered. This was just one of many. I can still drink water but anything else will make me violently ill.”

Gabriel paused in the act of shaking out the tea leaves, “Would you like a mug of plain hot water then? You’d be able to be warmed by it at least.”

“No, thank you. I like holding it in my hands and smelling it. Pretending I can drink it.” She paused a moment, reflecting, “Pretending I’m human again.”

Gabriel wished he had another mug. There was no reason she couldn’t have hot water to sip and tea to smell. He pondered her choice of words. “Would you choose to be mortal then?” he asked carefully, picking his way across the words like a deer moving through sleeping wolves. He handed her the steaming mug and she wrapped her hands around it.

“Oh yes, in a second.” Laura nodded emphatically. “There isn’t much I wouldn’t be willing to do to be human again. To stop drinking blood, to see the sun rise, to give back to the world instead of constantly taking from it.”

She was almost too sincere; it would seem disingenuous coming from anyone else. With all the pieces he’d gleaned from their conversations however, it wasn’t. She was always disarmingly honest. Laura was serious right now.

“Why do you think it would be different as a mortal? You would still need to eat, there would still be a night and you’d probably be able to do less than you do now. Haven’t you noticed that people can be good and bad? That people kill each other just as vampires do?” _Am I seriously arguing that being a vampire is on the same level as being human?_ He asked himself. _No, it’s different, it’s just that she is so human-like, it’s just…different._

Laura’s smile was so fragile he was afraid it might break. “I don’t do anything of great value right now. Certainly nothing that could undo the damage my immortality has done.”

Gabriel felt himself getting angry. He set his mug down. “Stop that. Just stop. What you offer the world is important and makes a difference. You care about the creation you live in; you do all sorts of little things that show how much you cherish the gift of life…you take on missions like this one with no benefit to yourself! You take no pleasure in being a vampire, in killing, in blood letting. You don’t even hunt people!”

Laura shook her head back and forth. “Killing isn’t something one should take pleasure in. For too long I was surrounded by people who believe there is a hierarchy of value to being _alive_. As though sentient thought was exclusive to vampires!” She scoffed, clearly having had this argument before, “Anyone who can be still for ten minutes can see that there is a complexity, a narrative and purpose to all life. There is an immeasurable intention to all living things that should be respected. Humans aren’t lesser beings because they know that they are fragile?! Many times, I have envied them their bravery, living in the immediacy and _honesty_ that this breath could be their last.”

“You do realize that _you_ live that way, don’t you?” he asked her.

Her face went blank, clearly flummoxed. “I—I do?” she asked him tentatively, as though he might yell, “No!” in response.

 _Was she really this oblivious?_ Not for the first time he wondered all sorts of things about her time at the vampire court. As gently as he could manage, not wanting there to be any uncertainty, any confusion with his words, he answered her. “Yes. You are the most honest person I’ve ever met. You do everything with great thought and intention. You contribute a great deal to the world and to the people who experience it with you.”

Laura’s jaw dropped and he was afraid he’d overdone it. “What? Anyone would say so. Peter adores you and Martha practically wants to adopt you and she just met you! Anyway, it’s just a fact, that’s all.”

She was still staring at him, so he picked his mug back up and took a sip. Wow, that was just _incredible. It **does** taste like waking up from a great sleep. _He sniffed it, closing his eyes. And it smelled like…well, it smelled like the afterglow from making love. Warm, rich, with a tangy sweetness… _Was **everything** just going to make him think about sex now?_

 _Until you get her those long, pale legs wrapped around your waist, it’s not stopping._ His shadow voice warned.

 _There is no ‘until.’_ Gabriel sternly told it.

 _We’ll see,_ it murmured back.

“How does it taste?” Laura asked him, a wistful envy tinging her voice.

“Good. It’s good.” _Very descriptive_. Gabriel offered, “I can see what you meant about the smell. The taste is different but it’s still there. It could use some milk.” Something to cool his palate. He was way too warm. “You can’t even have a drop to taste it?”

“No, believe me, I have tried. It’s like poison to me now. It’s horribly unfair.” Laura shrugged. “Suffer well. What can you do.”

“Mmmmm,” he said and sipped again. “Why do you make all these things then? I mean, I get you enjoy them but this is a lot of work for something you’ll never use?”

“I do use them actually, and take comfort in the process of growing the plants and preparing the food or soap or what have you. Recently I’ve been able to make food without guilt, when my friend Chupa is home. He’s especially fond of bacon and sausage, so it’s been fun experimenting!”

“Chupa, as in _Chupacabra_? He lives with you? A Chupacabra?” His incredulous tone must have made her feel defensive because she huddled into her blanket a little more and nodded. “That’s amazing, they don’t live anywhere, they are nomadic. He must really like you to want to stay in one place.” Laura looked across the flames at him.

Her smile was a flower turning towards the sun, blooming with love. It took his breath away. There was so much generosity and contentment there, it trickled over into this space and stroked everything with gentle fingers. _She’s gorgeous,_ he thought suddenly, _actually gorgeous. When did that happen?_

He had a vision of her smiling like that in the pale glow of the night sky an hour before the sun. Her limbs would be loose and soft from sleep, white cloud of hair tousled and tumbling around her across a pillow. Her taste would be like an awakening, morning dew on petals. She’d be pliant, soft, succumbing to his caresses and kisses with boundless generosity.

Laura would open for him like it was breathing; essential, comfortable, vital. She would be a gift of life and hope. When he would move inside her it would be completion, a rising of souls to clasp and twine into a new whole. It left him shaken, touched, stripped.

 _Where did that come from? That was more than just lust,_ he thought with trepidation. Those leaves against the gate of his heart were getting deep.

“Chupa is my best friend. We met centuries ago and he moved in with me when I came back here after my travels.” Her fondness was evident in her voice. “He will say that he’s a long-term guest, but he has his own wing. He still roams and plays his pranks around the country. He comes back whenever he needs to. Sometimes he comes back every night and sometimes he doesn’t return for a month. I would never ask him to have it any other way, he is happy wandering and I am happy at home.”

“So, you are alone otherwise?” Gabriel asked, wishing that he wasn’t so grateful to ask the question he’s been dying to know. _Four hundred years_ … _was every man in the country blind?_ He wondered.

“Oh, no. Well, yes and no. I don’t have anyone else who stays with me, but I have my deadly toys to help me with chores and my gardens. I work with them to fill the merchant orders for the villages around my holdings and I make up carts for the Brotherhood twice a month.” She shrugged.

“I actually was quite busy this last month leaving instructions and coordinating to ensure that the supplies kept flowing while you and I completed this mission. Chupa will make sure that they are carried out. Oh, and I stay in contact with some of my friends as much as I can through messenger, but I also try to let them live their lives. No one wants an uninvited guest on their doorstep. Well…” She chuckled, “I actually do but, I suspect I am not the norm in that though.”

Gabriel made a face. “Martha is the same way actually. She loves to make a home, take care of people, be among them. I’ve always wondered how she can stand it but it’s not so bad really. Marie always loved being with people so we would have gatherings and friends over constantly. It helped her when I was away too. She and Martha were always together, thick as thieves, chattering away while they did the wash in the morning sun.” The memory hurt but it was such a pretty, shining gem.

“You lived in the compound with Marie?” Laura asked when he’d lapsed into silence.

“No, no. I wouldn’t want that, it’s a place of war and violence. Marie respected what I did—do,” he corrected, “but neither of us wanted to live in the midst of it. We lived just outside the village. I needed to be close to the Brotherhood and she needed to be close to her family.” He finished his tea and put it down. Wordlessly, Laura offered him hers, nodding when he quirked his brow in a silent question. He took the mug from her. “Obviously I don’t live there anymore. Too many ghosts.”

“Martha must miss her so much.” Laura said quietly. “To lose someone so close to her.”

Gabriel absently patted the bottom of his mug, “She does. She was Marie’s godmother and Peter hired her on the recommendation of Clare, Marie’s mother.” He knew they weren’t really talking about Martha. This was his chance.

“Laura, I want to apologize for earlier. It wasn’t your fault that I reacted so poorly. It just surprised me, like stepping on a thorn when you’re dancing, if you know what I mean? I don’t want you to blame yourself or think I am offended or angry. I really am not. It’s just that…Marie… it’s still so fresh.” He took a long gulp of tea, mostly cooled now.

“Of course, it is. I understand. Thank you for the apology but it really wasn’t necessary. Sometimes I just can’t believe my own stupidity.” Her laugh was tight and self-deprecating.

“It’s not stupidity to just be yourself, to be curious and in the moment. You aren’t stupid. Believe me, I should know. I’ve _actually_ done some stupid things.” He clucked. “Ask Martha. She’s known me my whole life. She’s seen some shit.”

“What are the chances I might hear _this_ story?” she asked him playfully.

Gabriel smiled at her.

Lying in the den, safe from the dawn creeping over the horizon, Gabriel smiled again. They’d both been surprised that he’d actually told her. Remembering the time that he and two other boys built an “air ship” had been terrific. The trouble started when Gabriel had decided he wanted to fly. He’d read about Icarus and decided that the problem was _only_ getting too close to the sun.

They’d made off with the altar linens because it’d been the biggest cloth they could find. They tied the altar cloth to four horse saddles as though the horses were the posts to a giant table. They’d taken turns riding in the middle of the ‘air ship’ on the road between the Brotherhood and the village.

Everything had been going well until Martha caught them coming back from town. He’d laughed himself breathless with Laura, when he’d retold the verbal lashing she’d given the three skinny lads about desecrating holy artifacts. Years after the fact, Martha had told him how impressed she’d been with his ingenuity. That watching him ride in the ship was one of the funniest things she’d ever seen.

He’d been careful not to mention to Laura that he had been whipped within an inch of his life by the monks when they’d found out. He had a feeling it would have ruined the good mood and he was enjoying her laugh. She always looked so surprised when she heard it, as though she’d forgotten it was in her.

The beating had certainly ruined Martha’s good mood. Martha had been _furious_ when he’d told her years after the fact. She’d been ready to dig Father Thomas out of his grave and spit on his bones. She’d settled for cradling him in a big hug and telling him that she was terribly sorry.

 _What a woman_ , he thought to himself now, smile broadening.

“Belmont?” Laura’s burning leaves voice rustled in the darkness, prickling his skin and bringing him back to the fact that she was _right there_ if he were to reach out and touch her.

“Yes,” He whispered back to her, subtly opening his senses to see if she was alright, only to be slammed by the scent of her in such a closed space. She wasn’t wrong, it did smell of dog but it also smelled of clean herbs, fresh mint and _her_. All around him, in his lungs, and under his hands if he would just reach out. _Four hundred years since anyone had touched her with desire in the dark. Or the light. At all. God have mercy._

“Thank you for being here. I’m grateful you are coming with me.” He could hear the sincerity in her voice. Out of everything he thought she might say, this was not it. But if there was one thing Laura was, it was honest. She really _was_ thankful he was there.

He opened his mouth to respond and his shadow mind interjected, _Well, not yet. We aren’t coming together, yet. Soon though, and multiple times. Maybe once with your fangs in us?_ He snapped his mouth shut abruptly, not trusting himself. God forbid he repeat those treacherous words.

He settled on a safe and happy-sounding, “Mm-hm!”

“Well, goodnight,” Laura said softly and he heard her snuggle down a little more. She gave a little sigh of contentment that melted his heart. Another leaf against the gate.

\---

Woken up like an animal  
Teeth ready for sinking  
My mind's lost in bleak visions  
I've tried to escape but keep sinking  
Woken up like an animal  
I'm all ready for healing  
My mind's lost with nightmares streaming  
Woken up (kicking screaming)  
Take me out of this place I'm in  
Break me out of this shell-like case I'm in  
Underneath the skin there's a human  
Buried deep within there's a human  
And despite everything I'm still human  
I think that I'm still human  
But I think I'm dying here  
 _-“Human,”_ Daughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I was late with this. I have been posting at an *astronomical* rate on "It Started Out Badly" and I have like four chapters for "Relinquo" lined up that need editing. I will be trying to get the next one out here in the next couple of days. The action picks up here pretty quickly so strap in!  
> \---  
> Thanks to Pexels for the images of the teapot, box and scenery. Specific shout out to Snapwire.


	16. Exhale the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was here, with him. That was over, long in the past. She quaked, unable to get her body to be still. She had the irresistible urge to hug him, to be warm, to be safe in those competent hands. _Could she risk it? Could she ask?_ He was the only solid thing in this nightmare.
> 
> “Could I…?” She blushed, “Could you… just…h-hold me for a moment?” He stared at her, face slack with surprise and her courage collapsed. “I’m sorry, that’s preposterous. It is unfair of me to ask.” She surged to her feet and promptly stumbled. He met her there and before she knew it, she was enveloped in pepper and coriander with notes of leather and sweat. _Gabriel._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CONTENT WARNING:Discussions of Laura’s imprisonment, speculation on how she was sired, suggested suicide, one detailed description of her surroundings while imprisoned, no details of acts that occurred, panic attack.**

The way his eyebrows drew down when he was being sarcastic was like a tiny cat was arching its butt at her from between them. She repressed the urge to coo at him when he got irritated like this; all she could see was that smart ass of the cat. She tried to keep her mouth firm and shook her head again.

“No. Again Belmont, it’s out of the question! It’s too loud and this is more than enough.” She indicated the shelter that she’d constructed under the low hang of a boulder. The boulder had a natural cleft where it met the earth. She’d dug into it enough to create a small hollow but the earth was compact and rocky. She’d been worried about the sound digging further would make. They were approaching the border of goblin territory in the Veros Forest, but because they were still here, she would improvise.

Laura had lined the whole thing with thick branches. She’d placed pine boughs over the branches and then moss over that. Finally, she’d dumped soil and dried pine needles over it for a completely darkened crawlspace. Her intention had been to have Gabriel Belmont close it off and had a pile for this to the side. He’d been at the creek retrieving water and washing up while she’d constructed this. The argument had started when he’d returned and seen what she’d done. He insisted she dig the sleep den; she’d refused to change this set up.

“It’s not safe Laura! We’ve been through this. You’d have no where to run if we were attacked. I won’t watch you _burn alive_ because you were too inatçı lanet* to dig a den, _like you know you should_!!”

He was going to start shouting, she could hear it in his voice. A small part of her was warmed by his obvious concern for her welfare. Ruthlessly, she forced herself to remember, _**I need you for entrance into Carmilla’s castle.**_

 _It’s only the mission. It’s not personal._ That shouldn’t depress her as much as it did. “Keep your voice down, for goodness’ sake. It’s safe enough, you are being ridiculous. This is perfectly adequ—” her muttered response was broken with his furious growl.

“It feels like you are just making up reasons to willfully kill yourself out here." His face was hot fury. "I’m not going to let you die, with my permission no less!”

She jerked as though he’d back-handed her, all her amusement ebbing away. His words sucked her skin off her bones and shoved her into a locked room. She was naked, sliced apart and reeking of despair and excrement. The floor was cold, absorbing her tears and spreading the acrid scent of her own blood across the room. She could hear the rats, feel them on her skin. She heard the Master, _I’m not going to let you die without my permission._

“Laura, Laura, what’s _happening_? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have— **Laura.** Talk to me.” His voice was a hollow echo across time.

She came to when he’d delicately touched her shoulder, wrenching away from him like a wounded animal. A choked, “Please don’t hurt me…” made it past her lips.

He sprung back and continued to step away. “Forgive me, _I’m so sorry_ …what can I do?”

It was the care in his tone that sprung the lock in the room. Emotions like consideration didn’t exist in that dark space. She ran screaming from the dungeon and slammed the door. Skin cold and clammy, she returned into her body. With a convulsive shudder she looked at Gabriel, on his hands and knees, cheek almost in the dirt trying to watch her face.

She was here, with him. That was over, long in the past. She quaked, unable to get her body to be still. She had the irresistible urge to hug him, to be warm, to be safe in those competent hands. _Could she risk it? Could she ask? He was the only solid thing in this nightmare._

“Could I…?” She blushed, “Could you… just…h-hold me for a moment?” He stared at her, face slack with surprise and her courage collapsed. “I’m sorry, that’s preposterous. It is unfair of me to ask.” She surged to her feet and promptly stumbled. He met her there and before she knew it, she was enveloped in pepper and coriander with notes of leather and sweat. _Gabriel._

Heat seeped into her through his tunic, comforting, vibrant and alive. His arms were draped gently around her and she could hear his heartbeat, soothing like the river water she embraced every night. The steady pulse washed over her, through her, left her cleansed. Her head fit into the hollow between his chin and shoulder. She inhaled him, that scent that refused any definition except, ‘right.’

She felt hesitant fingers brush her braid and her spine. Everything narrowed to the space in his arms, banishing her memory in the wake of this utter contentment. Her skin prickled like flower petals brushing against her. She fit here. _She belonged here._ Her brain wanted to argue; she didn’t belong anywhere. She was surprised when she was able to silence that thought and just enjoy the moment.

“You hug well.” She mumbled into his tunic. _Brilliant Laura, that’s a great insight._

“So, I’ve been told.” His voice sounded hoarse, like there was something caught in it.

 _Of course, Marie. He was thinking of Marie._ It was enough to remind herself that she did not deserve this embrace, had no right to even ask for it. That she’d infringed on his generosity and invaded his space. _Again._ She stepped back gently, the delay in opening his arms reflecting his surprise at her withdrawal.

“Thank you.” She sighed, and bit back the sense of loss. “I apologize, I was thinking of something…unpleasant.”

“ **Laura,** that was not a reaction to something unpleasant. You were remembering …something truly horrible.” There was no judgement or accusation in his tone, only a concern that touched her. She was quiet for a moment and was startled when he asked her, “Do you need to talk about it? Would it help?”

She started to deny and then reconsidered. “Truthfully, I don’t know if I can. I never have really. Only a couple of people are aware of it; Peter and Chupa presently, but even then…it’s only pieces.” She took a stuttering breath. “It’s deeply repugnant to me but I will _have_ to tell you about it before we reach Carmilla’s fortress…so I can try to start now.”

She simply sank to the ground where they stood. Gabriel sat down beside her, crossing his legs. Their knees fractionally touched. It gave her the strength to speak, even if it was in a hushed, forced whisper.

“I was created by a powerful vampire some 800 years ago. My sire is...not a kind creature. They’ve lived so long that they have nothing good left in them. Actually, it’s more than possible that they never had anything good in them to begin with.”

Her brain admonished her; _you are leaving out so much!_ But this was what she could do right now. “I was a prisoner for decades. My imprisonment took place in Carmilla’s castle and was mostly private and alone. My…trials were at the hands of my sire only. However, there were times that the whole court witnessed my… bondage. There was a time during my imprisonment that death would have been welcomed. From any source.”

Gabriel’s sharp inhalation forced her to meet his eyes. “That wish has long since passed. Now, I’m constantly aware that my life has its purpose. I exist to make amends for the things I did in that court. I wouldn’t deliberately try to end it. Not anymore.” She lapsed into silence, appreciating that Gabriel didn’t rush to fill it. “As I am sure you can imagine, its one of the reasons I don’t drink human blood. Speaking of which, I should go hunt before it gets too much later.” She made a move to start getting up.

“Laura, wait.” He put out a hand to her and waited until she settled back. Eyes on her, watching for an indication that she didn’t want him to, he reached for her hand. She lifted her hand to meet his, unsure of what he wanted. When he took it, his palm was warm, hard and enveloping. He did not restrain her, just clasped her loosely, offering comfort without demand. Astonishment swept through her; this was a touch without domination, without self-serving intentions, without expectation. Awareness shot through her. She thought of the potato again, and understood what it was to feel safe. She felt comforted.

“As I’m sure you could guess, I have questions.” He murmured, watching her hand in his. _What does he see?_ she wondered and wished she could ask.

She tensed, dreading them. “But they can wait until you are ready.” His eyes met hers and the storms swirled at her, sucking her into their warm depths. _To be held there indefinitely, to be part of him..._

Gratitude flooded her and she struggled for composure. _There was no expectation here,_ she thought, overwhelmed. “Thank you, Belmont, your kindness, your patience…it means a great deal to me. I am glad you are here.”

His mouth, that gorgeous, kissable mouth, curved into an easy smile. “Do you think you might start calling me Gabriel anytime soon? I feel like that’s something friends would do.”

He must have realized what he said because his smile faltered. “We are friends?” she asked, daring to hope, but expecting him to correct himself.

He looked away from her. “Well, _aren’t_ we?” he asked quietly.

Her smile felt like it would split her face, felt like streams of golden light and flower petals were bursting forth from her skull. “YES!!” she shouted and immediately clapped her hand over her mouth with profound apology. His head had snapped back to stare at her when she’d yelled. “ _Yes_!!” she whispered fiercely to him, nodding vigorously, “Please and thank you, Bel—Gabriel.”

His grin moved something deep in her heart, an almost indiscernible snick of completion like a lock sliding home. “Good, I’m glad we are on the same page.”

\---

When Laura delved into the trees to hunt, Gabriel dropped his head into his heads and allowed the shudders to come. He needed to destroy something, rip it apart, run for miles, break everything in sight. _What kind of man would do that to her?_ he asked himself again.

He knew that there was much she had left out, reams of unknown details that twisted in his stomach and burned like a coal in his chest. How much more he didn’t want to know; he wasn’t sure he could take it. Perhaps it was better to not think of it, but his mind was on fire.

He thought of her choice to drink animal blood and felt something settle. He could trust that; he could understand it now. Truthfully, even looking her fangs didn’t make him feel threatened or concerned anymore. He simply couldn’t see her attacking someone with the intention of draining them. This had given him the ‘why,’ which is something that he always needed in order to understand and accept.

What he couldn’t comprehend was how Laura stayed so authentic. _How did she stay sane? How did she overcome this? How she could trust anyone? Leave her home? Take my disparagement_ , he thought with a pang. How she could choose to go back there and face a place where she was imprisoned. For something that wasn’t even her fight.

 _She’s brave,_ he thought. While true, that reason didn’t cover this. This wasn’t just brave, this was sacrifice. This was owning your fear and carrying it with you because you had to keep going. How did she put it? ‘Making amends’? This was atonement, but for what he couldn’t imagine. _No really, I simply can’t,_ he thought.

Perhaps it was foolish but he felt like he knew her. He had been as surprised as she was that he’d said they were friends, but realized that it was the truth as soon as it passed his lips. He liked her, admired her, and now he was shaken by her. She’d survived being a prisoner _for decades_. In his soul, he knew that whatever she was atoning for couldn’t be worth the return to the castle and to have that memory resurrected back into reality.

 _My sire is not a kind creature._ Did that mean she’d been turned by force? Murdered, only to be resurrected into a bloodthirsty, endless twilight? " _La dracu,_ *" he muttered forcefully. She may have never intended to become a vampire, never wanted her immortality and power. That would fit with what he knew. It would explain her softness and humanity, her rejection of vampire culture and norms.

It would be something out of the ordinary if she’d been turned by force. Supposedly one of the tenets of the Blood Kingdom was that no one is to be turned without consent. It was considered a gift, not a curse. Maybe it was different 800 years ago? With a start, he realized, _I would have never met her_. She would be dead by now. He was disgusted with himself for the gratitude he felt for her immortality. While he didn’t wish she’d been through what she’d described, he was grateful that she was here **now**. That he could be with her. _I am glad you are here,_ she’d said to him and he understood now.

When she’d asked him to hold her, he’d thought he’d been struck by lightning. Her vulnerability was shredding his shields. Disarmed, he’d hesitated, fearful of panicking her with his churning emotions. More than that, he was afraid to experience her coming to him _willingly_. His shadow mind had triumphantly sunk its talons into her perceived surrender, regardless of how it was given. Gabriel had been appalled. _I am not a fucking animal,_ he’d told it.

The damage from his seeming rejection had been written all over Laura’s face. It had caused him to throw all caution to the wind. He embraced the woman who’d haunted him since the moment he’d met her and found everything he’d been dreaming about in his arms. Soft, strong, alive she’d fit him like it was meant to be. He couldn't pretend that what had happened the night they'd discussed spices had been a one-time occurrence because it was happening all over again.

He couldn’t help but to stroke her glossy braid and marvel at its smooth, aromatic softness. In his mind’s eye he could see himself using it to pull her head back and expose that delicate spot under her jaw to his bite. Gabriel clamped down on his desire. That would be a betrayal of her trust and she’d been abused enough. He would not subject her to his unwanted attentions. To that end, he was grateful for the distance between their thighs.

When she’d nestled into his arms, it was like she’d always belonged there. He’d felt such longing that they would stay this way. He desired her yes, but he’s also just become accustomed to her being there. _In a matter of days,_ he thought with bewilderment. He enjoyed her company, her brilliance and sparkle, her cleverness and fire. The mission would end but perhaps they could stay in touch. They were friends now.

He had said that they were friends and you would have thought he’d offered her the stars. Her enthusiasm had been endearing and extraordinarily poignant. How could he run the risk of ruining that joy with a desire that she couldn’t possibly want to return? Why would she ever trust a man again after what she’d been through?

The forest was quiet enough that he heard her shout as though it was next to him. It turned out that it might as well have been. He’d moved incredibly fast, but she was also only a stone’s throw to the camp. By the time the furious bellowing had started, he could already see her. He stopped dead in his tracks, stricken.

\---

I see the weight of hollow death residing in you  
Take now your final breath  
Exhale the truth  
I see the fear of nothing left  
Dead fragments of youth  
You hold it in yourself  
I feel it too  
I mourn your blindness  
I die alone  
And swallow darkness  
In misery, is where I belong  
Collapsing in on yourself  
I don't know why I try  
Collapsing in on yourself  
I don't know why you deny  
- _“Collapsing,”_ Demon Hunter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good lord, when I tagged this slow burn I didn't realize how committed my characters were going to be to it! 😩  
> \---  
> * inatçı lanet = damn stubborn,  
> La dracu = fuck.  
> \---  
> Artwork from the talented NeexSethe, used with permission. Check out her other offerings on DeviantArt!


	17. I am the war

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Gabriel!!” Laura screamed, scrambling over bodies towards the spot where she’d caused his fall. The bodies went flying in crazy spirals as she flung them out of her way. Finally, she reached the end of the combat cross, hooked tip and spiked chain wrapped around an incredibly mangled goblin. She followed it back to the grip. 
> 
> Her heart tripped in her chest as she located one metal gauntlet with a red armored arm attached to it, the remainder of his body buried under two goblins. She pulled the goblins away and there he was, eyes closed, face ashen. 
> 
> She grasped Gabriel in her arms and hauled him out. The combat cross fell from his hand to spear into the ground like a headstone. He was not breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger Warning: Graphic gore descriptions, supernatural violence, animals in pain (accidentally), suicidal thoughts. Blood in the mood board below so please be mindful.**

She was _floating_. Gabriel Belmont wanted to be—no, **was,** her friend! Friends were a precious and rare thing for her. She would do everything in her power to protect this wonderful gift of trust. Nothing could be allowed to upset this fantastic balance that they’d found.

If that included fighting against the memory of his arms around her, the length of his body stretching in the sun, the promise of warmth and passion in his pepper and coriander fragrance, well… well, she would fight it. If she would have to bury these feelings of desire and yearning, she would. She could _. She must._

Exiting their camp in search of their dinner, she’s only gone a few hundred feet before she succumbed to elation and gratitude for what has just happened. She should have reduced her speed. She should have been careful. Instead, she sped across the tall grass in the clearing at supernatural sprint, mind intent on her new bond with Gabriel. Her distraction was a fatal mistake.

The herd was small, only two males and three females. There were twin colts resting in a tired heap under the stars, young and small. But it was their speed that lead to disaster. Unlike their parents, they had the young bones to go from sound sleep to a bounding leap. It was their death. Laura happened upon them suddenly, scaring herself as badly as she did the horses. She shouted in surprise.

The colts leapt at her; dark shapes moving fast. It was so quick that she didn’t even draw her swords, she just dived; claws fully extended and shredding through skin, muscle, veins. It wasn’t until the screaming of the adults that she realized. The cries were deafening; bellows of terror, anger, loss.

Feeling sick, she turned back to the colts. She’d half-eviscerated a grey, smoky-hided colt, its own entrails sliding beneath its hooves as it tried to scrabble away. She’d deeply scored the chest of another, a young thing with a sable and white coat. She’d severed the front leg. It was crying piteously and trying to crawl towards its mother now.

The mother bawled anxiously, pawing the ground and charging Laura, but refused to come closer to the monster that attacked them while they’d slept. The colts’ cries tore at her. Delicate, young and destroyed by a monster. She never meant for this to happen. She _never_ terrorized before killing.

 ** _It makes the blood sweeter_** _,_ she heard that ugly whisper from her past. Her gorge rose up. _No. Not here, not now, she must hold it together,_ she thought.

Seconds were precious now and she did not want the colts to suffer more than they had. She rushed the adults, scattering them in a pounding, frantic rush to the edge of the meadow. She returned to the colts with resolve, kneeling before them. The eviscerated grey one was dead, the blood pooled under it a reflection of her own evil. _It had died in pain and terror and it was her fault,_ she thought, weighed with grief. _Suffer well._ The white and sable one watched her with wide, glazed eyes, Laura as its angel of death reflected in those brown depths.

It was quick. Laura took the colt’s head in her hands and twisted it. The crack was like a fist in her gut, forcing all the bile back up. _This was all I could give you now,_ she thought remorsefully. _I am so sorry._ She gagged and spit, feeling revulsion and loathing for herself in the limp drag of the body in her arms. She gently put the colt down, smoothing the head back into some semblance of normalcy.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, feeling tears well. She sniffed, willing them back, hoping that they would not spill. She put out a hand to the cooling grey form beside her. “I am sorry to you both. I have brought you pain and terror and waste. I didn’t mean to hurt you and I would not have had your deaths be so gruesome, so pointless. I will try…” she choked, “to use the life I have _stolen_ for the better good.”

She knelt with reverence and bit below the broken neck, embracing the sable and white colt as though it was her child. Her tears came then, the taste of tender childhood breaking her heart. _You are a monster,_ she told herself. _There is no pretending, no hiding, no working for a humanity that will never be yours again. This is what you are and will always be. Hideous and feral, grotesque and parasitic._

The horse herd continued its inconsolable fury on the fringes of the meadow, stamping and bellowing an occasion mournful call. It became a cacophony with the rising tide of that insidious voice of her sire in her mind.

_**Good girl. Bleed it. Monster. My pet. Use your fangs. I know what you are. Monster. You have my permission. Good girl.** _

Laura gently released her victim, their blood running through her body now. Her stomach rolled. She rocked back on her heel until, hunched like a broken doll tossed in a corner and forgotten, she collapsed in a rejected heap. She buried her head in her hand and let out one loud wail, pounding her fist against her knee hard enough to bruise. _If I could truly bruise,_ she thought with revulsion. _Which I can’t because I am a fucking monster!_

“Laura.” She had not heard him approach, had not sensed him there. Her panic made her scramble up, her fear and grief swamping her, making her stagger.

 _Oh Gods, no, no, no, no,_ she begged silently. _Not like this! Not now. Not with littered corpses surrounding her, bled out and torn apart. Not when the truth of my evil is laid bare like some kind of sick festival decoration._

He’d started running towards her and had wrenched his combat cross out of the holster. She closed her eyes and waited for her end. She felt a tiny relief that it would be Gabriel. It would be quick. But it came from behind her, not from him. The crude arrow pierced her shoulder and burst out of the leather in the front. She looked down in astonishment at the protruding tip of a sharp bone arrow slicked with her blood. “Goblins!” Gabriel shouted, as the combat cross licked into the sea of green pouring out of the dark trees, spiked chain ripping and rending. The three-pronged tip sliced into the offending archer. With a flick of Gabriel’s wrist, the goblin burst in half.

He retracted the chain and whipped it into the pack again. Wailing and wet bursting sounds ensued. Belatedly, Laura realized that there had been a tremendous amount of noise in the last ten minutes. Under the bellowing of the horses and her actions, there had been the scurry and chitter of goblins swarming towards the sounds of distress. Probably why Gabriel had come running _._

 _Maybe he didn’t see…_ she thought with hope. _No Laura, assume that he did. Be prepared for it to be over after this. Be prepared that he will never look at you the same._ Behind her she could hear the whooping screams of the goblins as Gabriel waded into them. _Don’t leave him alone_ , she thought. That got her moving. She would never abandon him, especially to a disaster of her own design.

She reached up behind her to snap the arrow’s fletching off and she mercilessly pulled it through her own flesh. The squelch of the wood sliding through her body didn’t help her already nauseated state. Out of the corner of her eye she saw several goblins lobbing what looked like pinecones at Gabriel. She whirled, coming in low as the explosion threw him back into the dirt. _They had grenades and were throwing them at him,_ she thought with mounting anger.

In a matter of seconds, she’d surveyed the mass of surging green bodies and pinpointed where she could break them. She slid in front of Gabriel; claws fully extended for a low swipe across the goblin attacker’s shins. Bodies fell and rolled like toppled glassware in an earthquake. Coolly, she surveyed the damage even as she dealt it, and determined how to maximize the amount of death she could deliver. She got them into this mess; she would get them out.

As Gabriel leapt back up and extended the chain of the cross, she surged into the core of the horde, claws extended and slashing everything within arms reach. Limbs flew, jaws were severed, arterial spray decorated the sky like the spray of waves crashing into the cliffs. She was in the thick of them now and could not see him.

“Laura! Duck!!!,”she heard him howl. Over the top of the goblins she saw a whirlwind rise up from the earth. Gabriel was at the center with several goblins caught up with him. They were being pummeled in rapid succession, the hits sparking in flashes of light. She fell to the ground as an explosive wave of magical energy was released. Gabriel landed on a writhing mass of bodies, dove and rolled to her side. When she sat up, he was flanking her and his gauntlet glittering like an iron claw as he resumed a battle stance.

“Stay beside me.” He ordered, voice laced with steel and authority. He rose lithely and extended his arm to pull her up. Despite the situation, she felt a burst of awareness. _Here_ was the warrior. She realized he’d been right. If they’d _truly_ fought the first night they met, and he’d been like this and equipped like this…well, she’s grateful he wasn’t or she might not be here anymore.

She’d never been overly impressed with fighting prowess, or attracted to skilled dealers of death, but watching him was like watching a masterpiece come to life. He really was something to behold. He battled like a god; all channeled power, swift defiance and deadly elegant defenses. Back to back, they faced the roiling mass bristling with grenades, spears, knives and teeth. “Lightening on the left,” she murmured.

“Holy water on the right,” he responded. Seconds later, as blue flares and arcs of chain swept over the green skins, thundered rolled. “I thought you said lightening!” Gabriel shouted and she could hear exultant laughter on his voice.

“Whatever it takes, Belmont!!” she yelled back. They cut large swathes through the goblins but there always seemed to be more. The real problem with the goblins was their sheer numbers and the terrible tenacity that they seemed to share with tiny, nasty little dogs. The rain began to fall, the torn ground becoming slick and treacherous. The goblins kept pressing. The two warriors were flanked by screaming, filthy green bodies of all age and description.

Laura had never seen so many goblins in her life. For every one that fell, two emerged to replace it. The rain was a steady roar and made everything harder to hit. Laura had trouble finding purchase with her claws and pulled her blades from their scabbards. Twin Medusa’s roared in fury at the horde as Laura killed in stony silence. Behind her Gabriel’s combat cross howled alongside its wielder; righteous wrath smiting everything in their path. The resulting song was an ancient call of protection and possession: I will protect what’s mine.

The smell was unreal. Laura felt saturated in it, could taste goblin in the back of her throat. Her armor had protected her from any number of explosions but she had two more arrows, one in her back and one in her thigh, to accompany the one that had pierced her shoulder. She was grateful she’d continued her weapons training faithfully. Even though she hated practicing how to become more effective dispensing death, it had ensured that she stayed alive in this insane chaos of the melee.

She could hear screams and an intensive wave of heat behind her. Red flames flickered against her back and she sensed the demonic magic in them. _What the **hell**? The goblins had Shadow magic?!_ She turned to see a long, shallow gash in the earth, goblins strewn and burning, as though a giant hand had swept across the battlefield. The Shadow magic had obviously backfired on them. Not a surprise, really.

Gabriel was a juggernaut, ferociously wielding the cross at the other end of the groove. He was a coordinated, bold killer that seemed to never tire, he matched her cool, analytic approach like a hand into a glove. His combat cross was an extension of his own body, snapping out, winding through, finding its target and obliterating it. They were instinctively synchronized, constantly aware of where the other was on the battlefield and coordinating their attacks to compliment the other.

Laura had fought beside allies before but had never been so sure of where her partner was and what they were doing. She didn’t have to communicate her intentions to him, they seemed to be of one mind. Together, they directed a pincer movement towards the hill the goblins were streaming down. If they could bottleneck them there it would turn the tide of this fight strongly in their favor.

Delicately, subtly, they routed the pack back towards the knoll. They’d gotten the goblins a third up the hill when disaster struck. She slipped in the mud during the ascent and found herself on her knees. Worse, she slid back into Gabriel, cutting his feet out from under him and rolling him off her back. The goblin he’d had wrapped up in the combat cross landed across them. The pack flung themselves over the fallen trio, quickly burying them in squirming, reeking flesh. Laura misted instinctively, coming out from the teeming cluster behind it, towards the base of the hill. She could not see Gabriel.

“Gabriel!!” she shouted. She can hear her own outrage and fear echo back to her. The mass of goblins shuddered in response to the supernatural command and fury of her bellow and many stopped moving forward entirely. _I cannot see him, where is he?_ she thought. Laura was almost blinded with panic and it fed into a hole in her chest that spilled volcanic ire.

She held up her hands and extended her claws. Blue wisps and sparks started to dance around her fingers. Within the blink of an eye they’ve grown to surges of lightning that arc and crackle around her. The multitude of goblins shrank away from her and stumbled over themselves to get away. The lightning coiled around her in a huge, pulsing ball. “Don’t resist; embrace sweet death!” she roared at them and she released her lightning in a wide, billowing arc that decimated the area.

The goblins jerked, writhed and fell in one massive semicircle as the lightning swept over them. Its energy was amplified by the rainwater and it seemed to go on forever. It arced through the soaked mass like a needle through linen and spared no one from its jolt. Those who could, crawled over the bodies of their comrades and disappeared into the rain. Everything stopped moving and a hush descended. It is only broken by the patter of the rain against corpses.

 **“Gabriel!!”** Laura screamed, scrambling over bodies towards the spot where she’d caused his fall. The bodies went flying in crazy spirals as she flung them out of her way. Finally, she reached the end of the combat cross, hooked tip and spiked chain wrapped around an incredibly mangled goblin. She followed it back to the grip. Her heart tripped in her chest as she located one metal gauntlet with a red armored arm attached to it, the remainder of his body buried under two goblins. She pulled the goblins away and there he was, eyes closed, face ashen. She grasped Gabriel in her arms and hauled him out. The combat cross fell from his hand to spear into the ground like a headstone. He was not breathing.

With a soft cry of anguish, Laura cradled him to her breast and prayed to the God that Gabriel Belmont served, that he would be saved. That his God would not forsake him for her mistake. That she would have a chance to hear his laughter one more time. _Do not take him from me,_ she wailed. _Haven’t I done enough harm?_ But there was no answer from the sky and no movement in her arms. Laura wept, truly broken, for the first time in her life.

\---

Gabriel was floating. He had been fighting with Laura against a mass of goblins that never seemed to diminish and then his legs had been cut out from under him. He’d been crushed under the weight and reek of the goblins. Laura had been screaming his name. He couldn’t get to her, couldn’t move and then an incredible pain before darkness.

Was he dead? He couldn’t be sure. He looked at his body and it was there, still muddy, still wet and splattered with gore. Where was his weapon? He grasped around in the darkness and could feel nothing. _Wait, how could he see his body?_ He realized. The light was becoming brighter and a shadow fell across him.

Looking up, her saw her and his heart stopped. “Marie!” She floated down to him, delicate, soft, transparent, a tiny slip of a woman with a sleek figure. Her brown hair was pinned away from her face and fell along the back of her white dress. Her elaborate belt of gold disks that fell in a Y shape from her waist glimmered in her glow.

Her smile was radiant and her scent enveloped him. “My love," she murmured to him. "Tu m'as manqué.*”

“I’ve missed you too!! I don’t understand, how are you here?” Gabriel was reeling. His love for Marie surged inside of him and he tried to hold her. His arms passed uselessly through her; he closed his eyes as tears of despair welled up inside of him. “You are still gone. You are not truly here.”

“No, Gabriel. I **am** here. I am inside of you. J’ai toujours été.* I am always with you.” She touched his cheek and he could _feel_ her.

“I’m so sorry Marie.” He fell to his knees and tried to clutch her but his arms closed on nothingness. She ran her hands over his hair and it was like the wind blew through it. He could feel it but there was nothing to hold or grasp. “I failed you. I caused your death. I miss you so much I cannot survive it.” He wept into the air holding her skirts.

“Gabriel, look at me.” He looked up into her brown eyes. “I have heard you every time. Every word. You don’t need to keep saying it. There is nothing to forgive because you have not done anything wrong. My death was not your doing, nor was there anything you could have done to prevent it.”

“Marie…” his voice broke, “Marie, sometimes I just want to die. I can’t forgive myself. I can’t live vivez comme ça*.”

“Fight it Gabriel. This is not your time, not now. Too much relies on you.” Marie stroked his brow, just like she did when they were teenagers. Gabriel felt himself inundated with grief, tottering under it like a child carrying a stack of firewood.

“I have nothing left. I have done questionable things. I have failed.” He surrendered to it and felt himself grow colder as though a bitter wind was poking fingers into his marrow.

“Would you leave her then?” Marie asked him. 

Gabriel’s eyes flew open and he jerked in Marie’s grasp. When his eyes searched her face, her gaze was kind and filled with love. “Do you want me to?” he asked her, afraid of the answer. He must know, he needed it. 

“Oh Gabriel, my love. I want you to be happy. Only _you_ can choose what that looks like.” She gently drew him to his feet and kept her hands on his elbows.

“What if I don’t know what it looks like? What if I choose wrong?” Gabriel asked her, anguish twisting his brow.

“Do you consider your attraction to her one of the ‘questionable things’?” Marie’s voice was gentle, with no accusation in it. Still Gabriel’s eyes closed against his shame. “Je ne sais pas. Sometimes it feels so natural and easy, like breathing. Sometimes it’s painful, twisting me up inside and I cannot believe I could want someone _so much_. I don’t know which one it is.”

“Do you still need her?” Marie asked him. He could never lie to her, especially here. “Like I need to breathe. I’m sorry Marie, I know I’ve disgrace—“ Her hand covered his mouth and he quieted.

“Do not be sorry, Gabriel.” Marie used her grip on his elbow to gently steer him to the left. They both looked over to a grey space filled with driving rain, black skies and trampled fields. With a start, Gabriel saw himself, cold and still on the ground. Then he saw Laura. She had laid down beside him, curled up into a ball, weeping into his shoulder. Her wails were heartbreaking and she kept one hand on his chest, fingers clenched on the gold trim of his red armored coat. Blood streaked her face and washed crimson from pallid cheeks. She was praying.

“God of Gabriel Belmont, forgive me and release him from death. This is my fault, take me, punish me. This cannot be your plan. Do not take him yet. Please, _please,_ I would do anything.” As she prayed, she flinched repeatedly. Gabriel could see flashes of golden light flail her skin and leave little burns that healed almost instantly. _The prayers are burning her,_ he realized. It angered him that she couldn’t even pray to God without punishment, just for being what she was.

Gabriel felt his heart split. Whatever happiness was, it didn’t look like this. It didn’t feel like this. Laura’s voice held a million different emotions, and they were all tortured. He turned to Marie, “Why did you show me this?” Marie went on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. She gave him a long look, as though memorizing his face.

“I wanted you to know. I want you to **know** I understand. I love you and your happiness is mine.” And it went dark again.

\--- 

I was scanning through the skies  
And missed the static in your eyes  
Something blocking your reception  
It's distorting our connection  
With the distance amplified  
Was it all just synthesized?  
And now the silence screams that you are gone  
You've tuned me out  
I've lost your frequency  
There's something here that's broken  
There's something here with no end  
It's paralyzed  
It's in your eyes  
Cause I can feel your soul fade  
I can feel your heart change  
It falls out of phase with mine  
While you oscillate inside  
Or is it only in my head?  
Left inside a half-life  
Irradiated insides  
These memories  
They never leave  
I bared my soul for you and all I got was static  
My heart was bulletproof till you took off the jacket  
Castaway  
My cries are blocked by the horizon  
Suffocate  
I was doing this all for you  
I'm in the shallows, stuck in the gallows  
I tried to save you now I'm swallowed  
You wanted war  
I am the war  
I alone  
- _“Frequency,”_ Starset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays everyone!  
> \---  
> * Tu m'as manqué= I missed you. J’ai toujours été= I always was. Vivez comme ça =live like this. Je ne sais pas= I do not know.  
> \---  
> Image of Gabriel and Marie from Konami, horses from National Geographic.


	18. Unravel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her mouth was an explosion of sensation, aching and aware from the scrape of his stubble and the firmness of his mouth. He was a volcano of scent, flavor and heat and he was alive. Her whole body was buzzing under his mouth, as though she were a dormant fountain he’d poured water into. Everything was flowing forth in leaps of water that sparkled in the light.
> 
> She melted, heat pooling in her stomach, slipping down between her thighs and igniting a yearning that caught in her throat and tried to leap into his mouth. His tongue traced the part of her lips, seeking entrance, asking for her permission. Her surrender was a breath and a heartbeat away. He was alive and he was kissing her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to put a warning that there is a fair bit of angst in the next two chapters but I promise it does get better so hang in there!

She has no idea why she is still praying but she cannot stop. To fall into silence is to admit that there will be a time when Gabriel won’t be in the world any longer and to agree that the time for it has started. She will never agree to this and she will never give up. So, she prays. She accepts the lashes of incineration she gets as a result of a creature of evil praying to the God of good. She deserves them and the fact she can still feel their pain is one more reminder that there is still hope.

She is shattered. _I just found you,_ she thought. _Please don’t leave me. Don’t go._ She cannot even utter these words because she **must** keep praying. She must plague the God of Gabriel Belmont with the prayers of a vampire until that God gives him back. Otherwise she will never leave here. There will be no where else she could go, no joy that she could feel. _I didn’t know I could feel everything I have,_ she acknowledged. _You gave me this. I am alive with you. I think I…_

The chest under her hand moved up. Her eyes flew open. Her hand moved down.

Up.

Down.

She surged forward to look at him. The color is coming into his face and _by the Gods_ he is breathing!! Rain falls into his face and he flinches. Laura straddles him without a second thought, careful not to put pressure on him, just hover. She grabs the edge of her cloak and extends her arm to cover them both in a tiny cocoon of shelter. She is inches from his face. _He is alive,_ she thinks, deliriously happy.

She’s overwhelmed by it and the sudden reversal of her emotional state. She hesitated only for a moment and then gave into herself, just this once. She leaned down the last six inches and fitted her lips to his. It was just a moment, but it filled her with sweetness. An earnest craving bloomed between his smooth, warm lips and hers. She doesn’t try to deepen it or trace his lips with her tongue. This is a kiss of thankfulness, a kiss of prayers answered, balance restored. It is as innocent as a child kissing their mother goodnight and filled with just as much peace for her.

He stirred and she hastily retreated. She has left little drops of rain and blood on his cheeks, inches from his mouth. Reality slams back into her. Her face is covered in her bloody tears. Tears that are poisonous if they are ingested by a human. She can’t believe her foolishness! She looks closely at his lips; it is a relief she didn’t transfer any blood to his mouth. His eyes open and he squints. He murmurs to her, “hér ert þú.*”

“Don’t move Gabriel,” she warns, “you have my blood on your face and I need to get it off before it slides into your eyes or mouth.” With his knowledge of vampires, she knows she doesn’t have to explain to him. She does a mental inventory of the fabric she is wearing and with a sinking heart realizes she has nothing clean. _I can't even use my hands..._ She debates licking it off his face but she might get more droplets on him that way. It also seemed incredibly predatory and she never wants to get her fangs that close to his eyes, ever.

“Gabriel, I need you to carefully _and slowly_ get one of your daggers,” she tells him. 

She watched his hand inch down and retrieve one. “Now I need you to take the tip, slide it into the gap at the top of my tunic and slice down gently. We are going to use the inside of my tunic if it’s clean or a piece of my chemise if it’s not.” Gabriel blinked rapidly and his hand shook the dagger slowly back and forth. _No_ , it seemed to say. She violently hissed, “Just do it Belmont, _I want you to_.” His hand came back up, inch by inch, and the dagger disappeared into the neck of her tunic just as slowly. His knuckles brushed her clavicle and stroked her throat as he moved the dagger carefully and deliberately inside her tunic.

Like ripples across the surface of water, the miniscule strokes against the sensitive skin of her throat spread enticing, flowering sensations across her chest. She tried to hold back her shivers, conscious of spilling more blood onto him. Still, a few tiny trembles worked down her thighs. She was grateful that she wasn’t actually sitting on him or he would have felt them. _This isn't erotic; this isn't anything,_ she thought desperately. _He is only doing what you told him to do and to correct your thoughtless mistake!_

She could hear the fabric of her tunic rasping against the blade and felt her breasts shift dangerously against the giving fabric. _Suffer well, what if her chemise broke? What if Gabriel was cutting that too?_ She imagined her breasts soft against his calloused hands, carefully enveloped in his warm grasp. _Would he run his thumbs over her, stroke back and forth just as slowly as he was moving now? Or would his fingertips circle her nipples, using the edge of his fingernails to tease over the hardened peaks until she was arching into him? Would he use his mouth then?_ She realized she was holding her breath and let it out in a slow, soft exhale.

 _She wanted him. She wanted him **so** badly._ It was terrifying to want like this. It was a potent mix: her adrenaline from fighting, emotional barriers destroyed from his near-death, the delicate touches that have kindled her desire. She was so close to doing something she couldn’t take back, that would ruin their friendship forever. She felt a flush working its way up her chest. She hoped that it wouldn’t go up her neck and force her to wear her thoughts on her face.

The poor man just survived coming back from the dead and she already wanted to frighten him back into his grave. She tried to focus on what progress he had made with her tunic but the steady beat of the rain on her cloak, the delicate movements of his hand, the faint stirring of Gabriel’s breath on her cheek; it was intensely intimate. She realized that his hand had stilled and she was just staring at him.

Swirling sodalite and pearl was staring back at her. The force of his gaze, to be the pinpoint of all that intense focus, set off alarm bells in her mind. Her mouth was dry but she couldn’t seem to get the words out. The spell was broken as his hand fell away. “All done?” she whispered and he blinked twice. She sat back slightly and shifted her weight so she could bring up her hand from the ground and feel inside her tunic. He’d cut a long slash from the edge of her sternum to the hollow at her clavicle twice over and the strip hung loose. The fabric was dry. Thankfully, he seemed to have avoided her chemise.

“Close your eyes just in case so I can use the edge to wipe your cheek.” She whispered to him, thinking that then he wouldn’t have to stare down her cleavage and notice how erect her nipples were right now. He obediently closed them and she shifted upwards on her knees, thighs flexing against his ribs, belly on his chest, breasts so close to his mouth that she can feel his breath leave warm, moist clouds on the upper curves. She held her breath and his seemed to thunder in the tiny space. His lips were parted as though for her kiss and she could just…

“All done!” Laura said brightly and sprang off of him like she’d been bitten by a snake. She shouldn’t have moved backwards because she immediately tangled her cloak in the chain of the combat cross and went down on her ass in the mud. _Just great_ , she thought, but couldn’t find it in her to care. She was so overheated right now. She let her head fall back, closing her eyes against the rain and parting her lips to let the cold water trickle in.

The rain was cold and wet. The ground was cold and wet. She was hot and—Gabriel’s burning mouth slid against hers, tasting of salt, rain, pepper and hunger. She froze, unable to even breath, move or think. _He was kissing her. **HE WAS KISSING HER!!!**_ She wanted to… _Don’t break the spell, don’t make him stop._ _Don’t stop, Gabriel,_ she silently begged. _**Don’t. Stop.**_ She felt his metal greaves on her shoulder, wicked tips pressing into flesh like tiny kisses of their own. His shaggy hair dripped rain warmed by his skin onto her cheek. His scent surrounded her like steam from a bath and his skin was a lick of warmth everywhere that they touched.

Laura has never been kissed like this. A beckoning, coaxing thing that searched for her heart in tiny sips from her lips. Her mouth was an explosion of sensation, aching and aware from the scrape of his stubble and the firmness of his mouth. He was a volcano of scent, flavor and heat and he was _alive_. Her whole body was buzzing under his mouth, as though she were a dormant fountain he’d poured water into. Everything was flowing forth in leaps of water that sparkled in the light.

She melted, heat pooling in her stomach, slipping down between her thighs and igniting a yearning that caught in her throat and tried to leap into his mouth. His tongue traced the part of her lips, seeking entrance, asking for her permission. Her surrender was a breath and a heartbeat away. **_He was alive and he was kissing her._**

The cauldron of emotions boiled over her. It’d been an overwhelming night for her. Her confession, Gabriel’s declaration that they were friends, the colts, the goblin battle, her grief and terror at losing him, her begging and praying, his return to her, the sensual desire bubbling through her, this unending relief and gratitude and this incredible, unfathomable gift of realizing that he might want her too. She felt the tears come again and broke the kiss before they could fall onto his skin. She wiped them quickly, muttering, “one moment” and was halfway towards reaching for him again when she realized he had moved back.

“Lord have mercy, Laura, I am _so sorry_. I just...fuck. I am sorry, please forgive me. _I didn’t mean to_ , I just got carried away. Don’t cry, did I hurt you?” Laura opened her eyes and he’d moved back away from her with a worried look on his face. He was still kneeling in the mud in front of her but had backed out of the circle of her legs. **_You ruined it_** _. He didn’t even **mean** to kiss you and you ruined the **one chance** to be held in those hands_.

 _Isn’t that what you do?_ _Spoil everything that you touch?_ Asked the voice of the Master. She resisted more tears. Wasn’t she done for the day?

“No, Gabriel, no, of course not. I am perfectly…fine. I am just so grateful you are alive! I was just overcome for a moment. I was terrified I’d—that…you were _gone_ ,” she fluttered her hands helplessly.

“I was but I’m not sure where to. You wept for me. You _prayed_ for me.” She knew what was on his face was important, perhaps profound, but she couldn’t decipher the message. She was opening her mouth to ask him what it was, what he needed to say that she wasn’t understanding.

Reality hit her with an unambiguous backhand and shut her hopes down completely. “I saw Marie. She came to me. I think she likes you.” Gabriel said with a small smile, tenderness all but falling off of him in flakes of adoration.

Everything in Laura turned to ashes. _Remember that he is not yours. He never can be. You have no right to this man. He wasn’t kissing you; he was kissing his beloved wife. As it should be, as it always will be. He cannot be yours. He doesn’t feel like this about you._

 _You didn’t think he wanted **you**? _The Master’s voice snickered at her. _You, a pathetic nobody, a feral, filthy beast._

She forced herself to speak, and found that she could truly mean every word. “That’s lovely Gabriel. I am so happy you had a chance to be with her, to speak with her, to hold her again.” She gave him an earnest smile and felt her heart drop away. _You **love** him. You **actually do**._ She realized that she should have comprehended this weeks ago. _You idiot._ _Suffer well._ _You poor, deluded imbecile._ She could have died laughing. The vampire in love with the vampire killer. That’s poetic and a classic example of her luck.

“I am too. I was able to say goodbye…to settle some things. To be certain of others.” That intense focus was back and it was all on her. She was in the heart of the storms. She couldn’t stand it, it burned into her. It physically pained her to _finally_ have that gaze on her and to know what it felt like, only to recognize that she could never keep it. She strove for friendly when she responded. She could do friendly, even if she was busy trying to scoop the gore back into the split skin that was her heart.

“Nothing like telling kissing your loved one goodbye. I’m glad I could help.” Her smile was blinding and completely false. With supernatural speed she untangled herself from the chain and stood up. She held out her hand to Gabriel and realized he was frowning.

“Laura, wait, that’s not…” He extended his hand to her and started to rise.

“Seriously Gabriel, it’s fine. I’m fine. No harm done.” She paused and looked him dead in the eye. “I am really, truly happy that you had a chance to say goodbye. I can only imagine how important that is for you. As your **friend** ,” she put heavy emphasis on the word, “I’m thrilled for you. But this day has been _hell_. I want a bath and some tea, so move. Your. Ass.” She yanked him a little harder than was necessary and he flew up to his feet, clearly startled. She didn’t wait for him but started down the hill towards their camp at a steady clip, stepping over the bodies and cursing them both.

She refused to cry any more today.

\---

She tasted like a dream. Cool, fresh with a hint of warmth. He’d always imagined her taste would be spice and heat but he’d been completely wrong. She was a slow burn, seeping into his mouth like the sunrise creeping over the sky. She was all tang and sparkle. It was like cool water after traversing a desert. He needed to taste her again.

When she’d told him to put his hand inside her tunic, he thought she’d gone mad. When she’d demanded he do it because _she wanted him to_ , he was sure he could feel his sanity bend a little. The curves of her breasts had been tantalizingly soft and warm. She’d been wearing some kind of undershirt over them, which actually made sense when he considered how large her breasts were. He’d never seen one before and was very curious. For scholarly reasons. He knew it was going to feature in his fantasies in a big way from here on out. Curious or not, it was the only thing that had kept him from taking one big lick over the ample rise of her breasts and whimpering like a lost puppy.

Her scent had been everywhere, the tang of her blood mixed with mint was intense, pervasive and irresistible. He’d _wanted_ her bite, the smell of blood and those lovely fangs so close to his mouth; he could have just angled his neck to her and begged. The shadow voice had been a roaring thunder in his mind, demanding it in an unrelenting howl.

He’d been shaking with need by the time she’d knelt over him to wipe his cheek and honestly, he had no idea how he’d kept still. Her body had pressed against him with slow, sensual promise and when he’d felt the press of her hard nipples on his cheek he’d just snapped. There was only so much a man could take. But then she’d sprung up off of him and immediately fallen.

He’d jumped up himself, concerned she’d hurt herself. Instead, he was plunged right back into the flood of his want when he saw her upturned face, rain pouring down her pale cheeks, plastering loose tresses of moonlight hair to her dark cloak. Without thinking he’d gone on his knees before the goddess, capturing her mouth like he has wanted to since the moment he met her. It had been everything he’d ever needed.

She was sunlight in an abandoned room, setting the ordinary and bleak to a warm dance of magic. The dust of him became motes of fairy glitter under her kiss. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t done this before, had _wasted time_ when he could have been—and she pulled away. He thought he’d heard her say something, like “a moment,” but he wasn’t sure. Her eyes were closed but he could see bloody tears when she wiped her eyes. And he’d realized she hadn’t moved, hadn’t _breathed_ the entire time he’d been drowning in her.

Guilt swept through him like a tidal wave and he’d been ashamed. _Why the fuck can’t I ever just ask permission?!?_ Here was a woman who has told him she was held against her will for decades. _Giant, flaming signal fire to respect her physical space and I keep invading it like it doesn’t matter._ Which it **did** matter to him, very much. She’d obviously been petrified; she hadn’t even breathed. _Great way to show her you genuinely care about her, you prick,_ he’d chided himself _._ He moved back to give her some space and resisted touching her again. He could give her this at least. He can’t believe he has made her **cry** , he’s a complete bastard.

“Lord have mercy, Laura, I am _so sorry_. I just...fuck. I am sorry, please forgive me. _I didn’t mean to_ , I just got carried away. Don’t cry, did I hurt you?” His relief is huge when she opens her eyes and no further tears fall. There is a strange expression on her face but he can’t place it. His heart drops when he sees the hurt in them; he has really failed her this time.

“No, Gabriel, no, of course not. I am perfectly…fine. I am just so grateful you are alive! I was just overcome for a moment. I was terrified I’d—that…you were _gone_.” He hasn’t missed her hesitation on the word “fine,” and clenches his jaw; he needs to be careful here. He can understand being overcome; it happens to him every time he touches her. He thanks his lucky stars that she is so honest. He can trust that she means it when she says she is glad he is alive. She doesn’t hate him at least.

His shadow mind nudges the image of her sobbing into his shoulder and beseeching God to save him into the forefront of his consciousness. _Does that look like hate to you?_ It asks him.

He decides to take a risk. “I was, but I’m not sure where to… You wept for me. You _prayed_ for me.” He watches her face and his courage fails him completely. She is uncertain, confused by what he has said. Perhaps he’s completely misunderstood what it meant. What he thought it meant. Perhaps she is this generous with her heart with all her friends. She opens her mouth and he assumes it is to assure him that she cared about him as a friend. He can’t stand it. He doesn’t want to hear it from her, to force her to tell this selfishly dense man that his attentions are unwanted.

He says the first thing he can think of. “I saw Marie. She came to me. I think she likes you.” Gabriel had to smile, remembering Marie’s assurance that if he was happy, so was she. It was the sweetest goodbye she could have given him, the freedom to be happy. To show him the depth of Laura’s feelings for him. Contemplatively he thought, _Marie asked me if I **wanted** Laura. She wasn’t asking me if I wanted to be friends. Then she showed me Laura weeping over me. I’m not misreading this; Laura **has** to care about me._

“That’s lovely Gabriel. I am so happy you had a chance to be with her, to speak with her, to hold her again.” Laura’s kindness is a warm blanket over him, her smile genuine and heartfelt. His hope surges. She’s understood, he was able to settle his reservations around his attraction to her. He could look towards a future where they might be companions and lovers. There is affection here that would enrich both their lives.

“I am too. I was able to say goodbye…to settle some things. To be certain of others.” He wants to say something else; it’s poised on his tongue like an avalanche but he hesitates, afraid it is too much, too soon. Laura rushes to fill the gap.

“Nothing like telling kissing your loved one goodbye. I’m glad I could help.” She offers him a smile that is confusing. The smile would suggest that she is happy, but it’s filled with bitterness. Laura surges to her feet in a blur of action that hurts his eyes to watch. She offers him a hand expectantly and he automatically reaches for it.

 _Sweet Lord, does she think she’s a stand-in for Marie?!_ He thinks with alarm, _Fuck, that’s completely wrong!_ “Laura, wait, that’s not—” and she cuts him off.

“Seriously Gabriel, it’s fine. I’m fine. No harm done.” She’s looking him directly in the eye. Her gaze is intense, filled with anger, resentment and pain. “I am really, truly happy that you had a chance to say goodbye. I can only imagine how important that is for you. As your **friend** ,” she stabs him with the word, “I’m thrilled for you. But this day has been _hell_. I want a bath and some tea, so move. Your. Ass.”

She yanks him up hard enough to clack his teeth together and immediately moves away. He’s stunned, ripped open and destroyed. He’d completely misread the entire situation. He was right the first time. He’d trampled too many times over her personal limits and this was the result. She was rejecting him. She’d slammed the gate shut and firmly re-established her boundaries. She didn’t want him. She hadn’t responded to his kiss and had actually pulled away.

 _But could I get the fucking message?!_ He berated himself. _Nope. Like a fucking **fool** I kept pushing her for a response, so sure that I knew what she felt and she that she **had** to_ _feel the same way. Once again, I didn’t think to ask her what she wanted, if she might consider— **FUCK.**_ He couldn’t believe his insensitivity. He didn’t blame her at all for the anger or resentment. How stupid she must think he was.

It was the pain in her eyes that upset him the most. He _would not_ bring her more pain. It forced him to accept that he would never broach this topic again, never act on this insane, gnawing thirst for her. He would earn the right to be her friend again by rebuilding her trust. He’d accept the clear line she’d drawn between them if it killed him.

He respected her and had genuine affection for her. He didn’t want to lose her friendship, and prayed that it wasn’t too late for even that. _Honestly, I’ll be grateful if she ever confides in me again. I’ve completely violated her trust._ She was already at the edge of the trees when he started down the hill. The rain continued to fall and he felt like the heavens were weeping in tandem with his heart.

\---

While you are away  
My heart comes undone  
Slowly unravels  
In a ball of yarn  
The devil collects it  
With a grin  
Our love  
In a ball of yarn  
He'll never return it  
So when you come back  
We'll have to make new love  
 _-“Unravel,”_ Bjork

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hér ert þú = here you are  
> ___
> 
> Happy Holidays! I have finally accepted that there is no way for me to keep up my proposed writing schedule for this while I am actively writing all the one-shots and another multi-chapter work, "It Started Out Badly." I do apologize for that but hope you will stay with me. I do intend to still publish as quickly as possible. I would *guess* that would be approx a chapter a week at this rate.  
> I have a ridiculous amount completed for Carmen and if I am completely honest, I have also fallen into writing bits of Act 2 now, (tentatively titled "The White Wolf & The Dark Prince.") I blame the [one shot Christmas prompt I just wrote for that TBH.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28335648)  
> \---  
> Gabriel image from Konami, wet leaves from Pexals user "Dark Journey" and Laura hair shot is unknown (Pinterest).


	19. And all this devotion I never knew at all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holding her had been a gift beyond measure, a spiritual ceremony of trust. It had steadied him, swept the floors of his mind clean of all emotions. All the uncertainty, pain, grief, frustration, even the shadow voice, it was gone. All the remained, curled up in his ribcage like the tiny kitten she’d first made him think of, was Laura.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the time Gabriel entered camp, Laura had calmed down enough to feel embarrassment for her temper tantrum. She couldn’t fault Gabriel for her own feelings. She’d always known that he was still in love with Marie. That fact couldn’t have been any clearer. She’d fallen for him anyway. He’d never even trusted her enough to tell her how Marie died. This was entirely a disaster of her own making. Her body had led her mind into a fantasy that had tricked her heart. _This_ was why feelings are dangerous.

 _Monsters don’t deserve love._ The Master’s voice was mocking her incessantly now. Weary and aching everywhere in her body, her heart felt numb. She was empty, having bled out into the mud on that battlefield. She felt like a rag that had cleaned a thousand shitty boots. She just wanted a bath and to collapse onto her pallet in that stupid shelter that started this whole bloody thing. She heard him behind her and stiffened, clutching the bathing bag and change of clothes. _What could she say to him?_ she wondered. _Can I even look at him?_

She turned to see him standing in the rain, hair slicked back like he’d dragged both hands through it, grim expression and shuttered eyes. She **hated** that _she’d_ put this space between them. All because she couldn’t accept that he didn’t love her. How small her ability to love must be, that she couldn’t even offer him kindness. Maybe the Master was right, she was a monster. _No. No, I can rise above that_ , she told herself. _I **am** better than that._

She stepped toward him; the bravest thing she’s done all day. “Suffer well, Gabriel. We are both filthy and tired. I know I’m just _exhausted_. You don’t need to wait for me to finish bathing, just come with me. If memory serves, the pond has that outcropping of boulders separating the shallows on the far side. We can both bathe in privacy and besides, it would be smart to stay together in case the goblins decide to come back. We can crawl into the shelter to get out of the rain after.” She tried a smile, and found she could give it to him, if only to see his eyes come back to life. “Even **I** am getting a little sick of rain at this point.”

As she’d hoped, he returned her smile, a small curve of the lips, but she would take it. He nodded and gathered his things, pausing to hang his armoured coat over a tree branch. They went in silence to the pond and the rain finally ceased. Walking in the shadows, they found the shallows with the outcropping of boulders. She squatted and placed her sack down in front of her. “Did you need any body or hair soap? I am just now realizing I have never asked you. I’m sorry.”

As she talked, she took out her items and placed them in the sand: a small woven basket of reeds that she opened to reveal a cake of soap the colour of fresh catnip, two large, corked glass jars and a minute wooden box, incredibly detailed, about the size of her palm and decorated with little carved crabs. One of the bottles was the height, width and shape of her forearm. It contained a light tan liquid that was spearmint hair soap. The other was fat bubble with a narrow throat. It contained a pale green skin cream that was infused with lemon, vanilla and spearmint. The little crab box was a beeswax balm for her lips, hands, elbows and feet. She pulled her comb out and shoved her clothes far back into the bag, maneuvering the purple linen robe she used to dry herself to the front.

Gabriel knelt beside across from her, the little array between them. He picked up the skin cream and uncorked it, sniffing gently. His voice was a little rougher and deeper than normal, when he asked, “You use _all_ of this? This seems very complex.” She felt a tiny quake at the base of her spine in response to that tone. It dangerous in some way she couldn’t quite put her finger on. There was a note in that dark timbre that stroked across her, like a finger on a journey of discovery over her lips. She stifled a small moan. She **had** to stop thinking like this. It was only making it hurt more.

Her laugh was low and self-deprecating. “Yes, it is.” She blinked and swallowed. She hadn’t meant to respond to herself out loud, but at least it still made sense in the context of his question. Still, she should give him an actual answer. “I have something of a…requirement to be clean. It’s a result from…of being a vampire.”

“I’ve run into a bunch of vampires before, Laura and they never carried this,” he waved his hand at her little display, “around with them.” He gave her a cheeky grin and her world righted a little more. “I’m alright, thank you. I have a soap, that is what I use.”

She presented him with a disapproving scowl, “Gabriel, that is not good for your hair. It will make it dry.”

He gave her a curious look, “You can’t know that, you don’t even know what kind of soap I use. I mean, I know you make soaps, but surely all soaps aren’t all the same?”

She couldn’t help it; she knew her smile was self-satisfied. “Do you like your soap? Do you get it from the Brotherhood?”

He looked at her quizzically, but shockingly, didn’t seem to get it. “Yes?” His eyebrow quirked.

“I made it. You’re welcome.” Her tone was distinctly superior. “I make _all_ the soaps, both hair and body, the soap nuts for the laundry, the scented satchels for the chests, the base medicinal creams, the body oils and the skin creams for the Brotherhood. You’ve been using my soaps your whole life, Gabriel.”

His jaw dropped and her world corrected even more. _What can I say? I’m a shallow creature. It’s so rare to have one up on him_! She preened a little. “Your soaps are made with herbs I grew, with oils from either my jojoba and almond plants and tallow from processing my nightly kil— _oh my Gods!”_ She clapped a hand over her mouth, apprehension slamming back in full force as she remembered the colts. _He’d **seen** her, covered in blood with these ruined bodies…_

He looked around quickly, apparently thinking she was reacting to something in the area. “What is it Laura? What’s wrong?” He turned back to her and she could not meet his eyes. She didn’t want to talk about it; with all her heart she wanted to pretend that he hadn’t seen her, hadn’t seen how horrific she truly was. She couldn’t lie. **_Why_** _couldn’t she just **lie**?_

“I…I need to explain something. I need to apologize.” She forced herself to look at his face but settled on a spot below his eyes. She just couldn’t face the storms. “I don’t know how to explain. I know how it looked…by the saints, they came out of _nowhere._ It was an _accident_ and I just _couldn’t_ …” she trailed off, hands fluttering like caged birds trying to break free.

“Laura,” he said to her and his tone was so gentle, brimming with understanding. She met his gaze and was riveted by the acceptance she saw there. “ _I saw the whole thing_. This is the horses isn’t it? You don’t have to be ashamed. It was an honest accident. **I** didn’t even realize that they weren’t a threat until you’d already defended yourself. You did everything you could to try to ease their passing. You wept for them for God’s sake. Absolve yourself. _I saw you_.”

Her tension just broke clean. She was just _done_ with today. She didn’t care if it wasn’t fair, didn’t care if he imagined he was holding Marie, didn’t care if she would be pretending that he loved her. With an exhausted sigh she crawled over her bathing supplies, climbed into his lap, pulled his arms around her and just _wept_. She was so tired and so spent, that nothing came out but the sounds. She had no more tears left to shed.

He carefully shifted under her and she tensed. Then she realized he was moving his arm to hold her closer. His arms tightened subtly around her and she felt a sense of relief. He wasn’t going to push her off of him. She felt his warmth surround her and the stubble from his cheek resting against the top of her head. She clenched her eyes shut and inhaled him. She felt so safe here, so cherished. She could hear his heart beating, as strong and steady he was. She could stay here forever and just be cared for. Pretend she was worthy of his love.

She ached to be clean, restored to herself. But she would not leave his embrace for anything. Not even for that. As though he’d read her mind, he said, “Laura, I’m going to carry you into the pond, alright? I _will not_ let you go until you are ready. Your clothes need to cleaned anyway; we’ll just leave them to soak in the sunlight. We’ll get you started with your bath; I think it will make you feel better. I’ll just take off our boots first _. Again, I am not letting you go until you want me to.”_

Through her sobs, she nodded. She felt him carefully shift his arm under her knees and pull her boots off. Her socks followed. He lay her back against his other arm and she turned into his chest, hiding herself in the warm crease of his arm against his chest. When he stood up, she felt like she was a hundred feet in the air and completely safe. Little shifts and thuds told her that he’d removed his boots as well. She heard him wade into the water, his little sucked-in breath told her it was chilly but he kept going. When her toes dipped into the water at the same time as her backside, she gasped too.

“I’m sorry, it’s not pleasant.” He murmured it, voice low and soothing.

“It’s alright,” Laura whispered, and he kept walking, the water parting for them in a reverent murmur. He stopped when the water was up to her shoulders and mid-chest on him. And he just held her. She felt like she was floating but secure, free but protected. _He had her and he would not let her go until she asked him to._ He would hold her until the world fell away. Because she needed him to.

 _How could she help **but** to love this man?_ He made her feel more than she’d ever believed was possible, more than she’d felt even when she was human. Gabriel was the noblest person she’d ever met, the most selfless, giving and kind soul to ever enter her life. He made her want to lay down all her fears and accept whatever he might give her. But because she loved him, she would not do that to either of them. It would not be enough for her and too much for him. He was too decent to allow it to even happen.

So, she stayed there a moment longer, wrapped in his arms, in the embrace of the water and cradling herself in this womb of rebirth. When she looked up, Gabriel was watching the sky give way into the blue that meant dawn would be only a few hours away. She had a moment to see him in this new light, this new day and from the circle of his arms. The strong line of his jaw, the drumming pulse in his throat, the hairs curling up from the collar of his tunic. He was perfect. She didn’t know what to do with the rising depths of love inside her.

It was matched, pace for pace, with this terrifyingly fierce, spectacular beast that coveted, demanded, required _everything_ from him. It was like something had been born in the water with her. Maybe just released. But it had fangs and it wanted them inside Gabriel, while he covered her, spent himself in her. She should be disgusted with herself but she simply couldn’t be. She’s too raw, too vulnerable; in tune with every part of herself now. There is no judgement, no excuse. It is just the way she felt and she accepted that. Just as easily as she accepted that she will never ask him, never risk losing this vital presence in her life.

So, she reached up to touch his cheek instead and his eyes fell back to her, the glowing pearl, sodalite and lead unfathomably beautiful in the pale light. She smiled tremulously at him and gives his cheek a light stroke. He raised his eyebrows, the silent question asked. When she nodded, he quietly bent down and she is immersed slowly, softly and with aching tenderness. The water is cold but renewing. She felt everything settle all the way back into place. When she wiggled out of his embrace, he did not fight it. She swims out until she thinks her lungs will burst. When she surfaced, she does so knowing she is helplessly in love, and there is nothing she can do about it.

She has survived everything else; she will survive this.

\---

Gabriel watches her swim away under the water and he has never felt so connected to anyone in his entire life. He doesn’t understand how she can be so merciful to him and so unbearably cruel to herself. She _forgave him_ by the time he walked back to the camp, welcoming him back into their friendship as naturally as breathing. She’d offered to share her bath; her sacred, solitary act, and then, humbling him beyond measure, she’d turned to him for comfort. _After everything_. She absolutely staggered him with her humanity.

He’s never known anyone like her. Such a complete contradiction, a discovery of the unknown and undefined. Evil that she should be given everything that has happened to her and the bloodthirst that should define her and the pure, joyful celebration of goodness, mercy and life that she actually is.

The paradox of her supernatural immortality and the reverence with which she holds the everyday acts of existence. The grief of her history and the triumph of her present, creating an empire of meaning from the ashes of the past. She is an inspiration, a beacon of hope to him and he cannot help but want to crawl on his knees to her.

Holding her had been a gift beyond measure, a spiritual ceremony of trust. It had steadied him, swept the floors of his mind clean of all emotions. All the uncertainty, pain, grief, frustration, even the shadow voice, it was gone. All the remained, curled up in his ribcage like the tiny kitten she’d first made him think of, was Laura.

Something definitive has happened between them on this beach and in this water. He cannot name it but it has rearranged everything within his life. He is united within himself for the first time he can remember and all paths lead to her. He is helpless, trapped by what he feels and what he knows he must do. He cannot belong to her, but he cannot leave her.

He’s never felt so alone in his entire life. Watching Laura move away into the dark depths until he cannot see her anymore, is like dying. Watching her move into a space where he cannot follow, is letting his heart float away from his body. He cannot touch her and he cannot look away. Slowly she fades into the darkness. She is a sacred creature of moonlight, grace and altruïsm. He cannot offer her what is in his heart and it is all his fault. He’s lost her before he really understood what he had in front of him. His incompetence has cost him everything.

To feel so close to someone that you are sure that your souls were cast together at birth; to meet them, learn them, fall into them like a holy baptism…only to have to let them go? This is Hell. This longing is stark, shattering, mountain splitting. He doesn’t know how he will move on from this. He doesn’t know if he can.

He will stay suspended in this purgatory of yearning until he can move out of it without hurting her. If there is one thing he can offer her, it is to give her the space she needs to be who she is without expectation or unwanted advances. To cherish her only as a dear friend and not as the everything she has so rapidly become.

But as he watches her break the surface of the water like an angel storming the gates of heaven, he knows that if he had the chance again, he would do whatever he could to love her the way she deserves.

\---  
  


Oh, and it's breaking over me  
A thousand miles out to the sea bed  
Found the place to rest my head   
And the arms of the ocean so sweet and so cold  
And all this devotion I never knew at all  
And the crashes are heaven for a sinner released  
And the arms of the ocean delivered me  
And it's over and I'm going under  
But I'm not giving up, I'm just giving in  
I'm slipping underneath  
So cold and so sweet  
Never let me go   
Never let me go.  
Deliver me.  
_-“Never Let Me Go,”_ Florence and the Machine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small confession. This scene was pivotal to me in writing this story. It's one of the very first daydreams I had about Gabriel and Laura and the first piece of art I ever commissioned, below, by the talented and lovely Bree [@hagxnshall](https://twitter.com/hagxnshall/status/1307024012216799232). (Click for close ups 🥰) It's an important scene in the story and it will be referenced again. As a small aside, I could have used Florence + the Machine for this whole freaking story, she's a goddess.  
>   
> \---  
> https://morena70.tumblr.com/ for the shot of the couple, Matt Hardy on Pexels for the water photo.


	20. Hemipode

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have some healing fluffy yearning (and some hot fantasies) as balm for this shitty week ya'll <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They fell into an easy pattern of friendship. Both of them seemed to understand that the barriers of being strangers had been left behind in the water of the pond. They were close friends who happened to be a man and woman. At least, that is what Gabriel tells himself every minute of the day. He has worked ceaselessly to silence the shadow voice and respect Laura’s boundaries. No matter how hard he tried, he continued to want her.

He finally accepted that it was easier to put off the lust until he could be alone, then to try to repress it entirely. He tried suppression for three days and had come far closer to breaking his vow then was safe. She’d risen three feet away from him, soft, tousled and making her little stretching sounds as she curled like a cat, ass in the air. He’d been halfway across the pallet for a light spank of that glorious curve when he’d realized what he was doing.

He told himself that soon it would pass, soon he would stop having these maddening dreams of sweat, fangs and pleasure. Stop having frantic, raw moments of release when he would whisper her name and pray this would be the last time. Stop falling in love with her.

For her part, she seemed to be the same as before, but sometimes he could feel her staring at him. When he would turn to capture her eye, he could swear he saw grief in them. It would remind him that he had a long way to go to earn her trust and it helped him to continue to fight his feelings. The days became precious as gems on a necklace. Every day he would collect the memories of the day and write them down.

Often, she would sit across from him, also scratching away in her journal. His favourite part of the night was their evening rituals. They would dig a sleep den, find a cave, an ancient hovel, even an abandoned watchtower once—and Laura would go hunting while he set up camp. She would return with a deer, or a beaver, or a brace rabbits, all perfectly drained via two small holes with that broken neck that was Laura’s mercy at work.

Depending on the size of her offering, he would strip the carcass, dress it and build a small stand to smoke strips for his breakfast and lunch. She would help him with the bigger game, especially the deboning, as that always needed extra hands. Her talons were especially useful for this and she was precise. She truly didn’t waste; he marvelled at her extensive knowledge that ensured everything was put to use. They would leave the meat to cook, take their containers and walk to the nearest source of water.

While he refilled the containers and collected water for cooking their vegetables, Laura would lay out her bathing items from a soft grey sack embroidered with little deer dancing on tiny yellow flowers. Almost reverently, each object would be laid out just so: a folded purple linen robe the size of a large table embroidered with the image of sunset across the back, a newly laundered tunic, hose the colour of blueberries or maybe spun wool this time, a small woven basket of reeds containing a fist sized mound of cabbage-coloured soap, a sturdy comb etched with tiny vines, roses and smiling bats. Finally, she would lay out her two bottles and the little box with crabs on it. Since the night on the beach, he has known better than to smell them up close. They are sex in a bottle to him at this point.

He would return to the camp and she would bathe. Sometimes, when possible, he would go further into the water until they could no longer see each other, and he would bathe too. Occasionally, when his shadow voice would simply refuse to be contained, he would imagine joining her in her bath. He would envision her full-body blush when she realizes he’s coming in with her and consign his good intentions to the Devil. Those were the evenings when she would beat him back to camp.

Half of the time though, he would return to their fire first. He would wait for her, trying really hard not to picture her stripped naked, with her supple curves freed under the sky. While failing miserably at this, he would clean and prepare whatever vegetables they’d located on the journey. He was especially talented with spotting tuber sprouts. He’d shared with her that the secret was spotting the rodents that scurried to and from them.

When she returned, damp, refreshed and relaxed, he would eat and she would sniff _everything._ He’d picked up an outrageous amount of knowledge on flavours and spices this way. He suspects that he may now know every potential spice combination for squash and venison that exists in the world. Afterwards, they would companionably clean up the dishes, store the scraps and tidy the camp in preparation for sleep. The best part of the evening came when they were done the chores.

He would sit on his pallet and say his evening prayers. While he was at prayer, she would unbind her hair. It never failed to make his belly tighten and his cock twitch. Her tresses would tumble down in a freshly scented waterfall of white. From their previous conversation, he now knew it was spearmint he was smelling. It had gotten to the point where all he had to do was smell mint and he would start to get hard.

It was bad enough that he avoided cooking with it now, lest he be distracted and his hosen catch on fire. It has been a near miss twice now. It was the same issue when he was at prayers and watching her, smelling her. More than once he’d forgotten the words and had to begin all over again.

Laura’s hair was long and thick and fell in a v shape to the small of her back. To untangle it, she would bend gracefully at the waist, and start at the ends. It would run parallel to her body, water dripping out as she ran the comb over her locks. She would often hum or sing, but always softly. He suspected this was in deference to his meditations but he never actually asked her, afraid she might stop altogether if she realized he could hear her. He could never make out the words she sang, but her voice was mellow and rich. It curled like a beckoning finger to him; sultry incense on the night wind.

When she was done combing, she would sit and wait for him. Her hair would slowly dry in the heat of the fire. It waved as it dried, framing her face in softness. Sometimes, when her hair was like this and the firelight flickered against her skin, he could pretend that they were at home in their house getting ready to retire to bed together. He tried to avoid those fantasies, they made his chest constrict and he couldn’t pray for anything but her. Those litanies were always in his head and he was pretty sure God was sick of hearing them.

They would talk. Sometimes they told tales about things they had read or heard, or about things they saw on the road. Sometimes he would tell her about his life, stories he has read or training with the Brotherhood. She would tell him about her castle, her gardens, places she has travelled to. He has come to know her closest friend, a Chupacabra simply named ‘Chupa,’ someone he honestly looks forward to meeting someday. One whole evening was spent regaling him about their escapades together. It had been wonderful to hear so much laughter come from her.

It as amazing how much they discussed, as though they hadn’t been conversing throughout the night’s ride a few hours before. This was different from their talks on the trails though. He was able to watch her, absorb her. Laura’s face was incredibly expressive and captivating. Her body would be open and relaxed. He liked her toes. They were adorably crooked. The pinky toe curled into its mate, creating a tiny “o” between the two toes. He noticed her toes because she wiggled them on her blanket when she made him laugh. Often, she would reach out and touch his knee or his shoulder while they spoke. He would lean into these soft, small touches, revel in them and try not to embarrass himself by pleading for more.

One night, after she’d washed in the river on a particularly cold and unpleasant night, he decided to ask her about the bathing. It was such a peculiar habit, but she seemed to love it. This was a habit which he’d long been curious about and the timing seemed right. It was after the hair combing had been completed and his prayers were done. He’d waited until she’d finished writing in her journal.

She had laughed apologetically, and said “It’s certainly not what it could be! I’d prefer a hot bath.” When he asked her why she did it though, she responded, “It’s a habit I picked up from the Romans. I just imagine it’s a Roman bath.”

Gabriel cocked his head, “Is that different than any other bath? Obviously, I’ve had baths but I generally despise them. The tub is too small, I just end up standing in it and there’s a lot of awkward bending. But river baths are worse, they are unbelievably cold.”

Laura snorted, “Uh, **no** , it is nothing like that; bath tubs that are too small are just wretched! And the river is not a Roman bath at all! Romans had elaborate baths with piping hot water, tiled pools and sumptuous grooming.” She sighed, “It is really an experience.”

“How so?” he asked, curious about what would make it so different, “Would a bigger tub really change it that much?”

Gabriel watched her face, a small smile playing across her lips, a faraway look in her eyes. “It’s not just a bigger tub, although that _does_ make quite the difference. You have to imagine a steaming, clear pond as big as a stable. Everything smells clean and fresh. The water and the air is scented like the flowers strewn across the surface.” She closed her eyes, lips parting slightly. “ _Feel_ the warm steam kissing your skin as you submerse yourself into that hot, liquid embrace. Nothing will ever feel quite like this. You are renewed, reminded, brought back into your own flesh.”

Unbidden, he felt heat curl up in his abdomen. Laura couldn’t possibly know how erotic her words were. He had no trouble imagining what she’d described, the problem was that she was _there_ waiting in the hot water for him, skin flushed and eyes welcoming. Every part of her would be slicked from the water, glistening pale skin with that delicate rose of her blush, petals clinging in the wet tendrils of her hair. He would cup her stunning breasts in his hand and feel the weighted, fragrant fruit nestled in his palms. She would taste like spring rain, her fangs on his lip as a gentle scrape.

When her head fell back, he would run his mouth over her collarbone and savor the strength of her. It would be a wild, magnificent journey of teeth and tongue down to the nipples he would have teased into budding with his fingertips. He could spend all his life there; finding each gasp, lick and suck an alluring feast that was his for the taking. When he eased her legs apart and wound them around his hips, she would reach down… **God’s teeth** , _why_ couldn’t his body figure out this was impossible? He tried to concentrate on her words and will away the coiling, constricting need.

Her eyes were still closed. “You join the water and it opens for you. It’s like it was just waiting to welcome you in, wants you to go all the way and lose yourself.”

 _Well, shit_. He would swear it wasn’t intentional, but she was not helping **at all** _._ Gabriel could see the play of emotions across her face in firelight, her unbound hair cascading across her shoulders, framing her face like a wedding veil, eyes shut and soft lips offered up as though for a kiss from her lover.

“You’re coming up as another person, maybe gasping, maybe taking a deep breath, reveling in it all. You’re overwhelmed with the sensation of being completely enveloped in silence, peace, perfection. You are in the new and anything is possible now.” He could see her shudder. He bit off an answering groan. His mouth was uncomfortably dry, and for a moment they were silent together.

“That sounds incredible.” He murmured; voice thick.

Something in his voice must have alerted her because she gave him a tentative smile and came back to the moment. “It is. I love it.” She ducked her head to fuss with her blanket.

“Someday maybe I will have the chance to try one,” _with you,_ he added silently. He growled inwardly; he was his own worst enemy. _Could he just not?!_

She looked up and gave him a brilliant smile. “I actually have one in my manor. Well, a couple,” she chuckled. “You should come visit me sometime,” she faltered, looking at his expression. “I mean, if a mission ever brought you out that way...if you wanted to, that is to say, I would really love to have you…” she trailed off.

 _Oh, you can have me. The real question is can you handle it?_ The shadow voice purred.

Nodding profusely like a bear had him in it’s paws and his head was the beehive; Gabriel empathetically stated, “Yes, yes, that would be great! I…we…that should happen.” Realizing he was still nodding, he abruptly stilled and closed his eyes, willing himself to stop acting like the village idiot. “So, all that sounds lovely, but is a far cry from the baths you’ve been taking out here.”

“Ah, yes, sorry, I never did really answer that, did I?” she laughed.

He made a non-committal noise and took a drink from his mug. _Something_ had been answered, namely whether he would be able to sleep tonight without dreaming of her again. That was a resounding **no**.

“It’s a combination of things I suppose, really. For one thing, I don’t fancy goblin blood on me. Smells revolting.” She wrinkled her nose and grinned.

He matched her grin, “Completely fair,” he said, “even I decided I would rather freeze than smell like the boiled vomit of a wererat.”

She gagged. “That’s far too accurate, Belmont.”

He smirked and raised his mug sarcastically to salute her. “ _Anyway,_ ” she gave him a quelling glance, “besides the dirt there is also disease to consider. Washing routinely reduces your chance of becoming sick. Then there is the—”

“Wait you believe that?” he interrupted.

“Why yes.” She looked at him. “You don’t?’

“I’d read about it and it seemed to make sense to me but I’ve never known anyone who actively practiced it.” He awkwardly shrugged, “I know a lot of people who think that the Devil lives in water. I’ve always been amused by that because I think the Devil smells like people who don’t bathe. For myself, it’s just time and comfort. The water out here is unbelievably cold.”

She looked at him, bemused, “We live in a dirty world Belmont. There is disease, filth and despair everywhere. I’m not opposed to using any available tools to combat it, no matter how much work. Besides it being cold, it’s really not that that much effort or even time. I’m not gone _that_ long when I am bathing. Am I?”

He was caught by the “despair,” how did water help with _that_? Then he realized she’d asked how long she was gone bathing. _Well, not that long,_ he thought. Just long enough for him to think about the gasp she makes from the jolt of the cold water. Until the beach, he’d always bet her gasp would be pitched low. He’d been right. She was gone just long enough to for him to imagine the water kissing every inch of her body, the soap sliding over her breasts, nipples hard from the cold, just aching for his warm mouth…

 **Gods** , he was _killing_ himself here. He causally hunched a bit, relieving the rising pressure at the front of his hose. “Not that long.” He muttered, aware that he was giving his cock a command, as much as giving her an answer.

“See?” she said brightly, “it’s not a big deal.” She reached over to pat his knee. “Besides, its good to care for yourself and it can be fun using different soaps and creams. I could loan you my soap if you want to try something different; I mean if you don’t mind smelling like me.”

He lays awake almost all day trying not to think about how much he wouldn’t mind smelling like her. He starts making a point of bathing every other night and finds that, after a time, he agrees with her. There is something renewing about it. He cannot deny that he feels unbelievably connected to the night on the beach with her every time he wades in. It’s a pleasant torture. Often, he will just float in the water and dream of her.

He gently declines her offer of soap however, electing to continue using his usual pepper and coriander. Every time he uses it, he thinks of the strong, pale hands that were clever enough to make it. How they might be clever in all sorts of ways. It’s bad enough that he has to live with that thought. But to live smelling like her? He can’t live _constantly_ hard, no matter how tempting it is to smell her on him and imagine that it’s because he’s been in her arms.

\---

 _-“Hemipode,”_ Amiina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an instrumental piece by the insanely talented Icelandic band Amiina. Their entire album, “AminaminA,” is goodness and light, which is what I picture these sweet evenings of bonding between these two bebes would be 😊  
> \---  
> For a little while longer they can enjoy this isolated heaven but someone is coming--can you guess who?  
> \---  
> Campfire picture courtesy of Ali Arapoğlu (Pexels), model for Gabriel is Brock O’Hurn 🔥, Laura photo is courtesy of the wonderful Alexander Krivitskiy (Pexels) who honestly supplies 90% of my body photography and I owe him SO MUCH.  
> \---  
> 'Carmen Relinquo' Playlist is now on [on Spotify!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3UYssrXZSqYwsqq0phmFtm?si=tR7V7iR7S-iPKaT6g9TVsQ)


	21. Conjure the power bestowed upon our souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am her blóðlátinn,” Gabriel said and watched an alarmed, incredulous expression flit over the King’s face.
> 
> “Are you fucking _joking,_ ” Cornell muttered. “That is a terrible—” He fell silent, his brow furrowed as he stared at the forest floor and stroked his beard. Abruptly Cornell looked up. “Tell me something. How many Chosen Ones are there?”
> 
> Surprised at the turn of the conversation Gabriel cocked his head. “Never more then five. Right now? I believe there are three.”
> 
> “And the ritual? One of you is present to bequeath the new one?” Gabriel narrowed his eyes. _The ritual specifics were a sacred secret. He’d had to keep it from even Marie._ He nodded slowly aware that his suspicions were written across his face plain as the clouds in the sky.
> 
> “How do you know that?” the Chosen One asked. _How can you know what no one else does?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It had been a sleepless day. The shelter was tiny and they were too damn close to each other. Initially they’d both lay on their backs but that hadn’t lasted the moment they fell asleep. Twice Gabriel found himself waking to soft breath on his chin; the taste of mint a sweet chill on his throat.

He had turned to Laura in the night, rolled off his pallet and not-so-subtly crept into bed with her. He was appalled by this; it was a complete violation of her trust. The knight couldn’t believe that his subconscious suggestion was to simply _take_ what should always be offered. His self-disgust might have been stronger if he thought that was what he’d actually been doing.

Astoundingly, each time he woke he was only just starting to become aroused _._ It had been clear that his intentions hadn’t been erotic. _It was as though I was just trying to hold her_ , he thought blearily. He’d finally rolled as far as he could away from her and pressed himself into the cold, damp wall. That had worked for a time. Then Laura had put out her hand.

The soft touch and light scratch of slightly extended claws between his shoulder blades had made every muscle in his body decide it needed to scream with desire simultaneously. His tremor had been involuntary but she’d sleepily murmured, “You cold? Need warm?” Gabriel had valiantly tried to suppress his immediate and enthusiastic image of her pressed up against him, arm draped over his torso while she cupped his cock and danced her talons over the linen; little pricks of sensation taunting him.

“Uh…” he said.  
  
Apparently, that was a ‘yes,’ because she grunted, flopped over and pressed up against him, back to back. It was delightful; her little sounds and semi-irritated rustling ridiculously charming. He was smiling, even as he knew this would make it impossible for him to sleep. Then she pressed that incredible ass into the small of his back. _Fuck me,_ he thought.

 _Roll over_ , the shadow voice suggested and Gabriel tried to hold back a whimper. The level to which that seemed like a _great_ idea told him how tired he actually was.

 _It’s even more sumptuous than it looks,_ he thought and sighed mournfully. She was cooler than he remembered her being but it was hours since she’d fed and they’d been on the cold ground all day. The give of her flesh was exquisite. It answered that all-consuming question he’d had since his dream that first night: her ass would definitely ripple if he smacked it.

 _You aren’t supposed to be thinking about her like that, remember?_ he told himself.

 _This is hardly your fault,_ the shadow voice chimed in, all reason. _She instigated this. We could finish it. I bet her ass would ripple in allllll sorts of ways._

 _I don’t suppose you care that I am tired and could actually use the sleep?_ Gabriel said, resigned.

 _You know what is a great way to reinvigorate yourself? Fucking a vampire_ , the shadow voice said happily.

 _Oh like you even know,_ Gabriel retorted. _We never have and we both know that isn’t what she wants, so it’s **not** happening, _he grumbled to the shadow. _Stop rubbing my fucking face in it._

 _We could rub our face in that ass instead you know,_ it said gleefully, _just dip our tongue in and— **did you hear that.**_

He tensed and listened; the shadow poised inside him. Over the soft exhales of Laura, there was a crunch, rustle and then—yes, _shit_ —a snuffling. _Warg or a big ass bear,_ he thought immediately, and heard the wet inhale. _Warg_ , he decided, _and a big fucker too._ There was another sound, a murmured grunt. _What the hell?_ Gabriel wondered _, it sounded like there was someone out there with it!_ Carefully, he turned his head toward the mouth of the incline.

They were in a shallow groove that they’d dug horizontally into, to ensure that Laura was completely surrounded by earth. He lay on the other side, which was only half-earth. They’d closed it off with a low ceiling of branches, moss and soil to complete the lean-to. That meant that the end of his pallet and his feet were vulnerable to whatever was out there.

He had no idea what time of day it was and more importantly, where the sun was. _If that thing tried to get in here it could kill Laura,_ he thought and gently started to wiggle downward. He’d rather fight it out there and risk damage as he emerged, than risk her life.

Another huff and snort, closer now, above them and about ten paces away. “Easy now,” came the dark, low voice. _There was definitely someone out there, with a fucking warg_ , he thought. _Necromancer? It couldn’t be…_ He felt Laura tense and knew she was awake. Carefully, soundlessly, he put out his hand to her. It was a mistake.

His hand curved over her ass and they both froze. _S-soft_ , the shadow voice whimpered and Gabriel gulped. Laura shivered and it was a reminder that she’d been incredibly clear about this, and here he was, violating her space _again_. He jerked his hand back like he’d cut himself.

He dare not speak to apologize lest whatever was out there pinpoint them. Truthfully, he didn’t want to lie to her. It was an accident but he couldn’t honestly say he was sorry. _I **am** sorry though, _he thought, _because I don’t want to overstep her boundaries again._ _I don’t want to lose her friendship._

 ** _Crunch._** It was moving and it was big. Belmont raised a hand to her, flattened his palm and motioned down. _Stay._

She lifted her hand and wagged her finger. **No.**

 _Damn it, woman_ , Gabriel thought, and pointed to the sky, _the sun is out!  
  
_ The ground was vibrating now as the warg moved within feet of their shelter and Belmont stayed as still as possible, straining to listen. _It’s too close,_ he thought, concern mounting. _One mouthful, one good sweep of its paw, and she would have no where to run. I won't watch her burn._

She tapped his shoulder and flattened her palm down. **You, stay.** She shifted gently and her ass rubbed against him.

 _I have to get out of here for more than one reason_ , he thought as his desire jolted with a fierce kick. He decided to stop arguing and moved down, aware that his feet were now out of their shelter.

The warg stopped moving and then there was a thud and crispy crush of leaves. _Someone was riding the beast,_ he thought. Other than a Brotherhood knight, he couldn’t imagine who it might be. Since there was no collapse of the warg's body after the descent, it couldn't be a knight. He gripped the combat cross and shifted again, biting back a moan when his bicep slid along the cleft of Laura’s ass.  
  
“Gabriel!” Laura hissed virtually quiet, voice urgent and afraid. “Don’t!”

“Laura?” The deep, dark rasp came from outside the shelter. Gabriel froze. _What the fuck?_  
  
“Cornell?” Laura yelped incredulously, a laugh in her voice. She sat up on her elbows and turned toward the footsteps. “Over here!”

 _Cornell? As in the King of Wolfkind?_ He thought with disbelief. _She **knows** him? _

_This could be a problem for us,_ his shadow voice spoke and abruptly Gabriel realized just how true that was. _Why was the King of Wolfkind here?!_

“The sun is going down but do not come out yet!” Cornell said urgently and started forward, the ground shaking slightly. “There is a smell here, Laura, something I don’t—" Gabriel felt his alarm peak as the footsteps came closer and he wiggled out as quickly as he could. He turned to face the werewolf.

 _He is fucking huge_ , the Chosen One thought and blinked.

Gabriel was a big man and was used to towering over people. Cornell stood a good head and shoulders above him and was easily twice his size. His rust colored leather armor rose under his pectorals and fell to his knees. Heavy gauntlets of hardened leather protected his arms and steel claw tips covered his massive hands. His shoulders, throat and face were bare of protection, a sure testament to the werewolf’s prowess in battle. The tell-tale crest of the King was tattooed in black ink on his shoulder. A massive grey beard fell clear to his belly and two bestial fangs jutted above his bottom lip and over the top lip. He seemed to almost glow in the low sun, his pale skin reflecting the rays. Unsettling eyes pinned Gabriel with a blue so pale it was almost white.

Behind him, Cornell's mount stalked and was easily the biggest warg Belmont had ever seen. There was a simple leather saddle astride the mount and an absolutely massive warhammer tethered to it, the head shaped like a drinking horn and cruelly spiked to crush and maul. The beast lowered its skull and growled. _Thank God we tethered the horse's across the creek,_ Belmont thought, glancing across to the copse of trees that their mounts rested in. He suspected that the horses might have been food by now otherwise.

“You!” Cornell barked, pointing accusingly as Gabriel stood. His tattooed bicep was the size of Belmont’s thigh. “My acolytes were not lying; a warrior from the Brotherhood!” He looked down to the hole Gabriel had appeared from and sniffed with a great snort. His eyes were filled with malice when he looked at Gabriel and said, “I can _smell_ you.”

 _Shit, shit, shit,_ Belmont thought. _This is bad._

“I wonder if you know warrior, where you are, and who I am,” the Man-Beast asked him with a snarl.

 _I’m on desecrated land_ , Gabriel thought, _trying to decide whether or not you and your wolf deserve to keep living._

“Both of you, stop! It’s alright!” Laura called, “He is a friend!” Gabriel relaxed marginally. Evidently she knew Cornell well enough that he would stay living.  
  
The Man-Beast’s jaw clenched and Gabriel could actually hear the muscles flex and crack. Those colossal shoulders rolled unhappily and the armor shifted with a dry shudder. Suddenly and with a touch of alarm, he wondered exactly what Laura was to Cornell. _She hasn’t been with anyone,_ he thought. _And I believe her. But Cornell is not happy about my presence here. Could there be feelings on his part that she is unaware of?_

“Friend?” Cornell said softly, eyes on the man in front of him. The warg rumbled low, something suspiciously like a snicker, and the warrior’s hand tightened on the combat cross.

 _God’s blood_ , Belmont thought, feeling exposed. _Even the beast knows._ This could get very sticky very quickly.

“I am here to assist Laura and fulfill shared directives,” Gabriel said carefully.

“You say you are here to _assist_ Laura?” Cornell asked, scorn a lavish garnish on the words. He lowered his voice and hissed, “Is that really what you are going to tell me?!”

With a sinking heart, Gabriel tensed for the inevitable. He tried to stall. “I am here to help her reclaim—” he broke off, suddenly aware that he didn’t know where Cornell would fall on this matter or what he knew. But it was obvious that the king already had figured out enough.  
  
“Hey!” Laura called sharply. “No discussing this in the open! Cornell, Gabriel _knows_ , okay? He knows everything. I would trust him with my life.”

Warmth spread through Gabriel, a lovely drip of honey into his heart. _It’s mutual Laura_ , he thought and he remembered her shouted excitement when he suggested that they were friends. Gabriel jerked his chin at Cornell, unable to stop the smirk.

“We are _friends_ ,” the knight said with satisfied calm. He deliberately emphasized ‘friends.’

 _So fuck right off,_ his shadow voice growled possessively. Cornell jerked and narrowed his pale eyes, glittering orbs of assessment and brutality.

 _It was like he heard that,_ Gabriel thought, and dismissed it as impossible. _King or not, he can’t read my mind._

“Laura, caste a containment spell please. For your _friend_ and I,” Cornell said. “I would like a quick word.”

 _No,_ the warrior thought instantly but the golden walls were already descending. He looked behind him, keeping Cornell in his peripheral. Their sleeping shelter was outside of the spell. _Laura, why?_ Belmont thought with resignation. _Son of a bitch._

Cornell crossed his arms, steel tips scraping like claws on stone over his armor. The pale shimmering gold kissed the ferns around their ankles. “What the fuck are you?” the King asked him, voice filled with malice. “ _Really.”_

“What do you know about Laura’s mission?” Gabriel countered, unwilling to directly answer the question _. I will speak on nothing without knowing that you already knew,_ he thought.

The leathers encasing the massive torso shifted impatiently, Cornell’s nose twitching as he inhaled again. Gabriel had the uncomfortable sensation that he could smell all sorts of things he’d rather the Man-Beast not know. “I _gave_ her the fucking mission,” Cornell spat out. “Answer me; _who are you_?”

“I am Gabriel Belmont, a knight with the Brotherhood and a Chosen One of God.” He casually extended the combat cross to the side, careful to be non-threatening. “I wield the Vampire Killer and I am escorting Laura on this mission.”  
  
Cornell’s grunt was surprised. “You are going _with her_ to Carmilla’s castle? Are you staying with her,” he gestured to the shelter, “like _this,_ in the court?”

 _You mean, will we sleep beside each other in a bed?_ They hadn’t actually discussed it. The thought itched under his skin. Warm, soft bed. Laura’s yielding flesh snuggled up beside him. The sound of her breathing as he matched it, inhaling that mint fragrance and smelling it in the sheets…

 _I will stay beside her until she asks me to leave,_ the warrior thought, but didn’t want to share that. “I intend to see the mission through until it’s conclusion,” he responded, shifting the cross back to his side.

If anything, Cornell’s tension seemed to climb. “Let me be abundantly clear. Laura is facing enormous risk in that court. I knew that when I asked her to go but I would not risk her because you…” He seemed to struggle for words, one massive paw groping at the air as though he could see through his fingertips. “You seem to not understand the issues.”

Gabriel bristled, unsure of the implications. “I understand she is to be protected at all costs and I understand—”

“Has she told you about her sire?” the Man-Beast interrupted. “What… happened?”

 _Careful now_ , Belmont thought. He wanted to know, desperately, but he was also aware that he wanted Laura to tell him herself. He wanted her trust. “I am aware that her sire will be present and that there is…” He gritted his teeth, “poor history there.”

The Man-Beast threw back his head and laughed. It was a bitterly unhappy sound, sharp, brittle and filled with loathing. When his gaze met Gabriel’s, it was filled with hate. “Her sire is a fucking monster. The worst there is. Considering I am an actual monster saying that, I hope that gives you some inkling of how hideous they are." 

The Wolf King’s lips twisted. For a moment, Gabriel could have sworn he saw compassion but it was gone as soon as he blinked to look again. “Laura has survived things no one should,” the werewolf told him. “You cannot fathom it and you had best understand that the slightest mistake; an offhand slight, the wrong tone? Neither of you will be leaving the castle alive.”

Anger rose in the warrior and he spoke without thinking. “Why the fuck would you tell her to go back then? If you know what she has endured, why would you ask it of her? Go yourself!”

Cornell snarled. A roped arm of muscle the width of a man extended; one sharpened steel claw extended pointing at the warrior like he’d been selected as a meal. “You know not of what you speak and you should know your place! I know what you are and the Queen will too.”

“Good. Then she’ll know she would be foolish to touch me or Laura. We will comply with the summoning for the Foederis and we will leave.”  
  
Cornell shook his head slowly. “Laura has not told you.” He fell silent, glittering gaze raking over Gabriel.

 _I don’t like the implications of that_ , Gabriel thought, shifting uneasily. It could be one of the multiple issues she said that she wasn’t ready to discuss with him. It nettled him, like a burr caught on his chausses, even as he accepted it. There was certainly plenty he had kept to himself.

 _Ignore him,_ the shadow voice said. _She is as transparently honest as they come. Whatever it is, she will tell you when the time is right._

Cornell nodded. “I trust her implicitly; there is no one more honest.” Gabriel watched him stride the edges of the privacy spell cagily. It was a bit unnerving how the King kept pace with his thoughts. “She is an extraordinary woman and it is hers to tell,” the werewolf said and looked at the warrior.

“But you would have her go alone?” Gabriel asked incredulously. “Knowing what she is up against?!”

Cornell glared at him, fists balled for a moment and then released. “Neither you, nor I, alone, dare to enter the inner sanctum of the Queen of Vampires and dictate any petty terms to Carmilla. One does not challenge the Evening Star. The only one who has a chance of getting the information we need is Laura. How she intends to explain you, and how she intends to face her sire, is not something she would have left to chance.”

“I am her blóðlátinn,” Gabriel said and watched an alarmed, incredulous expression flit over the King’s face.

“Are you fucking _joking_ ,” Cornell muttered. “That is a terrible—” He fell silent, his brow furrowed as he stared at the forest floor and stroked his beard. Abruptly Cornell looked up. “Tell me something. How many Chosen Ones are there?”

Surprised at the turn of the conversation Gabriel cocked his head. “Never more then five. Right now? I believe there are three.”

“And the ritual? One of you is present to bequeath to the new one?” Gabriel narrowed his eyes. The ritual was a sacred secret. He’d had to keep it from even Marie. He nodded slowly, aware that his suspicions were tumbling across his face plain as the clouds in the sky.

“How do you know that?” the Chosen One asked. _How can you know what no one else does?_

The Man-Beast chuckled. “I am immortal, little man. Your pathetic rituals are known to me but you are ignorant. Ignorant of the real truth of your situation.”

Gabriel rolled his shoulders and looked the King in the eye. _The ritual is irrelevant right now._ “It is you who are ignorant,” he tossed back. “Ignorant of the pain and suffering you would willfully bring on Laura by asking her to do this.”

“For decades she has fought fiercely alongside the Brotherhood against the spawns of Satan. You don’t even know what pain and suffering is. Do you know who founded the Brotherhood, the order to which you belong?” Cornell asked.

Gabriel nodded. “Laura did, alongside some Brothers.” _I would alleviate her pain and suffering_ , Gabriel thought, _while you have sent her back to it._

Cornell nodded. “Laura has done everything she can to help mankind. She has used her power to purify the land of the sickness of the Shadow Kingdoms.” He smiled and it was filled with admiration. “We do not agree she and I, of course, and yet she is undeniably…endearing.”  
  
The way he said the word made Gabriel tense. _Was he the lycan who had crawled into bed with her?_ he wondered. No, the Man-Beast was no lycan and there was respect in his words. ‘ _Endearing,’ as though she were his child._ Something in the warrior eased. There was not sexual attraction here but there was emotion. It was curious. Everything that he had read and heard suggested that vampire and werewolf relationships were strained at best.

When he glanced back at Belmont, the warrior felt the weight of the werewolf’s consideration. Cornell spoke again, dark storm clouds in his voice. “Despite insurmountable odds, she abandoned the darkness of her origins and has transformed herself. Her power is far greater than you know and underestimating her importance in the vampire court would be a foolish mistake.”

 _I underestimate nothing about her!_ “You tell me nothing I did not already know, beast,” Gabriel retorted.

“Don’t you see? This is how she came to be who she is; you who would call her _friend._ You cannot understand how _you_ came to be here without understanding this truth!”

Gabriel didn’t see it and Cornell could tell. “Who enacted the Chosen One rite with you?” Cornell asked and Gabriel suddenly understood where the King got his information on the rite.

 _I_ _t’s not possible,_ he thought and asked. “You know him, don’t you?” Belmont asked and Cornell smiled slowly, a knowing, sly thing.

“Little do you realize that the form he holds now will be nothing but a carcass devoid of a soul before you are old. He is unique and his essence is unmistakable. Very old, very strong. He reincarnates constantly. This is just his latest form; I have known him as several different beings.”

Gabriel started, shocked. “That’s _impossible!_ He isn’t—” _She doesn’t know._ “Laura doesn’t know! How can she not tell, but you can?!”

“Werewolves' sense of smell is unparalleled; you should know this. But mine? Doubly so. Every essence has a scent. It’s inescapable and unique. I can smell what you ate for dinner three nights ago and I can smell—” his eyes flicked toward the sleeping shelter, “things you would rather she didn’t know.”

 _Don’t you dare!_ Gabriel thought furiously and the shadow voice growled in warning. “How do you—” he began but Cornell simply arched his brow.

The werewolf smiled easily and spread his hands. “I suspect that there will come a time you will reveal yourself to her. Probably around the time that she reveals everything to you.”

“Why are you here?” Gabriel asked, concern a rising tide of worry pressing against the base of his throat. “You never leave Agharta.” _And you can go back anytime now, like right this minute._

A shadow fell across Cornell’s face. “Correction, I hate to leave Agharta, but I will when I must. I just don’t share that with many.” The massive chest heaved as the werewolf sighed. “Laura’s mission—I can entrust the details to no one. There is no messenger I can send that is worth the risk. Carmilla’s spies are everywhere.” Cornell’s eyes bored into him. “I never know who to trust.”

Gabriel resisted making a face but the shadow voice had no such qualms. _Shove it up your ass you overgrown ballsack._

The warrior coughed and looked down, unable to keep a straight face. _Okay, that was a good one,_ he told the shadow mind.

 _Say it then,_ it retorted and Gabriel could only imagine how that might be received. “I am no spy,” he said instead, looking up into furious eyes of roiling mist.

Cornell snorted. “You certainly are more than you pretend to be, _friend_.”

Gabriel met his stare, again struck at how much it felt like the werewolf could see more than he wanted him too. “Aren’t we all?” he asked.

Cornell’s eyes flicked behind him and he smiled, a genuinely pleased expression. Gabriel turned enough to see Laura emerging from the sleep shelter and stretching in the twilight. “No, Gabriel,” the werewolf said. “There are a precious few who are just as wonderful as they appear to be.”

\---  
  


Before me there stands an opportunity  
There for the taking in this moment  
This exact moment  
I shall prepare myself  
To face a monster of which only I may conquer  
Conjure the power bestowed upon our souls  
Conjure the power  
Align the stones to form a message in the sand  
 _I will never relinquish_  
It is written in the sand  
Which lies below me  
Staring back at a helpless man  
I've done all I can  
It lies in the hands of those who seek a voice soaring above the rest  
 _-“Mikasa,”_ Veil of Maya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so late and I am sorry. This chapter *fought* me with the dialogue and I rewrote it twice because I didn't just want it to be a bunch of talking. (Oh look...a bunch of talking!) The good news? I was able to take portions of what I cut from the first draft for the next chapter! So *hopefully* it will be faster. :) 
> 
> I hope you are all doing well! Take care of yourselves 🎀  
> \---  
> Cornell and Gabriel images property of Konami, all rights retained by them. "Laura" image from Pinterest (unattributed), Forest from Pexals photographer "Amazing 3D."


	22. Take a taste of what's within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They decide to make camp in the middle of the temple, the toppled body of a statue of Vesta providing extra cover for their flank in case of attack. Laura has already hunted for the evening, an ibex slung over the back of Gabriel’s horse. She hasn’t told Gabriel about the best part of this temple yet. There is a Roman bath off the priest’s quarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Light TW for unwelcome advances/sexual harassment for this chapter.**

They’ve finally passed out of Veros Woods and travelled into Wygol Forest, until they came upon the last sign of humanity before the vampire court. Wygol Village is the only place within 60 leagues of Carmilla’s castle. It is colder here and the skies are overcast most of the time. They are getting close to the end of their journey and every step reminds Laura that her time with Gabriel is coming to an end. It eats away at her. Her love is a desperate, sad creature pacing the floors of its prison. But Laura understands captivity, understands that confined long enough and cruelly enough, her love for Gabriel will die in its cage.

Cornell’s visit had been lovely but his news was not good. Olrox had been sighted on her property and the wargs that patrolled while she was away had reported that while he didn’t break in, he had inspected her holdings extensively. It did not bode well.  
  
When they see Wygol in the distance, Laura suggests to Gabriel that he could stay at the inn. He could sleep in a real bed and have a decent meal, but he will have none of it. He told her that he won’t leave her and refused all arguments otherwise. Laura tells herself that it is only his integrity and nothing more. But she yearns for it to mean something more. Secretly she is grateful. She doesn’t want a minute away from him when she has so little left.

Gabriel tells her that he will go there in the morning to pick up a couple of things. The Brotherhood had completed a cleansing of ghouls in the area not six months past. Gabriel had led the knights from his barracks and they had joined forces with Brother Zobek, a Brotherhood knight of great renown from the side of the country beyond Carmilla’s castle. Gabriel wants to check on the townsfolk to ensure that there has been no further crypt disturbances.

She wishes she could accompany him, to see this part of his life. She often forgets his rank and importance within the Brotherhood. To her, he is just Gabriel; the fiery, humorous, brilliant, sensitive, quicksilver man that she loves. Sometimes it feels as though they have been on this journey together their entire lives. She marvels at how little time has actually passed, and yet she feels closer to him than anyone she’s ever known. What did it mean that they had become so close in such a short span of time?

They stopped at the Ruined Pools, a small Roman temple in a state of collapse. It is shunned by the village as a place for vampires and Laura is relieved to find it empty. With all the nobles travelling to Carmilla’s, there had been a good chance that it might have already be occupied. The front of the temple is so destroyed that they have to move several pieces of broken columns to make a space for their horses to pick their way through. They put all the pieces back as an extra layer of protection, leaving a small opening for Gabriel to squeeze through to collect firewood.

Inside Laura is pleasantly surprised to find it relatively clean and without any blood or bodies. She’d warned Gabriel that they might find a rotting corpse and had dreaded having to tolerate the smell all evening. As they move back into the temple, the dried leaves and debris taper down to almost nothing.

They decide to make camp in the middle of the temple, the toppled body of a statue of Vesta providing extra cover for their flank in case of attack. Laura has already hunted for the evening, an ibex slung over the back of Gabriel’s horse. Laura hasn’t told Gabriel about the best part of this temple yet. There is a Roman bath off the priest’s quarters.

Of course, it isn’t everything she’d told him it could be because it hasn’t been maintained. However, last time she was here to leave coins and supplies on doorsteps 3 am, the water still ran and the roof was mostly intact. It was relatively sheltered by the surrounding forest and direct sunlight wasn’t an issue until the middle of the day. It was perfect.

She surveyed the rounded pool. It could hold about 6 horses and was built out of split stones and mortar. The water was a pretty jade colour from the moss and algae that grew down from a tree that had taken root in the cracked lip of the pool. Branches crowded in a twisting arch into the hole in the roof, creating a canopy of green that provided some cover from the sky.

The water continued to flow at a steady pace from an aqueduct system about 20 feet up the side of the wall. It splashed down in a quiet gurgle into the pool and kept the surface of the water from stagnating so there was no debris or insects like you might find in a pond. The water emptied out through a series of grates punched through the opposite wall.

She had told Gabriel she had a surprise and asked him to wait in the main hall. All blurred motion, she tidied the water of any residual leaves and shuffled the rubbish off to one corner. Leading him by his hand and checking to make sure he isn’t peeking; Laura unveiled it to Gabriel with anxious pride. She feels triumphant when his face reflects wonder and fascination.

They spend a great deal of time investigating the piping and she feels badly that Gabriel’s curiosity is thwarted by the rubble blocking the room that houses the heating system. She can almost hear his brain galloping as he wanders back to their campsite, saying he wants to make some sketches based on what he thinks might be the heating mechanism. They agree Laura will bathe first, mostly because he wants to sketch but also because the light has turned pale blue and dawn is only hours away now.

Laura laid out her bathing supplies and stripped down. The pool is unbelievably deep and the water is like a jewel. It’s chilly but actually not bad. She is grateful it is not winter yet; she has bathed in this water in the winter and it is misery.

She dove down to the bottom and hovered, looking up at the green light filtering down and thinking about the last time she stayed under water this long. She remembers watching Gabriel while he held her in light just like this. Thinking then, as she does now, how much she loves him. Internally she sighed.

She kept waiting for this _need_ to subside and instead it kept building. She propelled herself toward the surface and swam to the steps. She sat in the water for a moment before turning, climbing the steps and retrieving her cake of soap. She returned to the wet of the water and started to soap her arms. She remembered the feel of his arms around her, what it was like to press her face into his chest. She wondered what might have happened if she had kissed him in that moment. If she had traced her tongue over the cord in his neck. If she’d put her hands under his tunic and…

She shook her head at that. She _shouldn’t_ be imagining this, it’s unfair to him, and torture for herself. Laura briskly rinsed her arms and soaped her belly, moving up to her breasts. Soaping her collarbone and the upper curves of her chest, she decided it would be safer to soap her armpits before finishing her breasts. Her mind wanders again. She wondered if Gabriel has a washing routine like she does. She wondered what it is and that led to her imagining what he looked like bathing.

The scene forms before she can stop herself. _Walking naked down the hall to the entrance to the bath. Each step mounting anticipation. Knowing she is going to surrender to him, and be claimed by him. Knowing she is going to beg him for it by the end and watch the desire in him grow fangs from tasting the ferocity of her need. Standing at the entrance, she watches his long limbs move through the water._

_His shoulders tighten and bunch as he swims, giving her a bird’s eye view of what they will look like as he drives himself into her. His hair is dripping wet and shining like a seal pelt. She wants to run her hands through it, use it to pull his mouth down to her body. Twine her fingers through its sleek depths as he runs his tongue down her stomach and licks into the wet heat of her, his stubble rasping against the inside of her thighs._

_She enters the bath slowly, giving him time to see her coming and giving her a chance to see the storms darken in his eyes. He meets her on the steps, and lifts her into the air. She wraps her legs around him and he is impatient for her, his beautiful, hard cock caught between them. She takes his mouth for a drugging kiss before reaching down and claiming the gorgeous, delectable prize that’s so hard, just for her._

_He pulls her hair to the side so he can use his teeth to ravage her neck, every pressure point a demand for entrance. Exploiting the side of his shaft, she slowly drags it back and forth across her lips, dipping his cockhead inside the flesh that shields her pulsing desire. She is already soaking for him and he growls into her throat._

_By the Gods._ With a flash of understanding, Laura recognizes that she’s soaping her breasts _in time_ with the image of his cock dragging across her lips. Her nipples are points of excited longing and she can feel the slippery evidence of her readiness in the water. _I can’t keep thinking about this,_ she thought. _I have to stop. To continue is madness._ It’s a freeing epiphany to discover that she simply doesn’t care. That beast that wants its fangs in Gabriel will settle for her own throat right now. Both she, and it, will do _anything_ to ease the insistent, relentless hunger.

_He lifts her off of him and uses her hair to pull her around, his heavy length dragging over the deep curves of her ass. He adjusts his grip on her hair to the very tip, wrapping the ends around his palm. “Kneel,” he says in that voice of command that makes her tighten violently in response. He cannot see her smirk, but he should know better._

_She steps away and bends at the waist. Laura cups her ankles and leisurely runs her hands up the inside of her legs. She knows he can see her breasts suspended and framed by her thighs as her fingers glide up towards the top of her thighs. She slowly unsheathes her talons. By the time she can feel the heat from the apex of her legs, her claws are fully extended._

_Widening her stance, she parts herself with two midnight claws. She can feel her desire trickle down her fingertips and knows he can see everything. The heat in his oath scorches her skin and suddenly he is there, one big hand on her hip, face buried between the back of her thighs. **Gabriel.** _

_She has to brace herself against the step and rocks back against his face. One broad, thick finger eases into her, pressing in tiny circles as his rigid tongue mimics the design over her entrance, working his way up towards the heart of her desire. He licks into her and flicks his tongue in a lazy pattern against the pearl he finds there. She quakes against him, small shocks flickering under her skin in time with his tongue. Her guttural pleas echo back at her across the water, “Oh my Gods, **yes** , there. Just like that my love, don’t stop, please, just **don’t** stop. **Gabriel**.” _

Laura doesn’t know what this feeling is, this rising, clawing, desperate monster that is writhing inside her body. It’s so huge it blocks everything else out and guides her hand as it moves between her thighs. _Even pressure_ , she thinks, and moans as a sharp spike of pleasure keens through her. She doesn’t know where these images are coming from, is shocked by their wanton eroticism, but she is also unbearably aroused by them.

She senses that there is something coming, some end to this building tension that she simply cannot bear any longer. She pauses, uncertain if the end will bring pleasure or pain; this sensation is poised so cleanly between the two. It is this thought that brings her out of her seductively wicked fantasy long enough to save her from eternal humiliation, or something far worse.

\---

Gabriel is outside the ruined temple collecting firewood. He has finished his notes on the water piping system Laura has shown him. She is taking longer than usual, but there is no rush as they are safely ensconced within the temple. He knew she was excited by the bath and just assumed she’s splashing around. He tries not to think of her body naked under the pale sky; how easily he’d be able to see every pale contour if he was there with her.

Sketching her naked form from memory would be possible if he saw her in this light. He’s not sure if that would be a blessing or a curse. Unbeknownst to him, Laura has two fingers inside of herself and is dreaming it is him touching her. There is no question he would give her the real thing, and so much more, if only he knew. But he has no idea.

Instead, he is giving himself a stern lecture on why he shouldn’t allow his imagination to conjure up these incredible images of her. Why he cannot act on all his immediate, insane and completely _primitive_ fantasies he instantly had when he saw the Roman bath. He will _not_ dream about thrusting shallowly between her breasts as she cups them in her hands. He must _not_ imagine the water lapping over the peaks of her nipples in time with his thrusts. Above all, he absolutely _cannot_ think about her hands on her thighs as she sits on the steps into the pool, spreading her legs for him while telling him exactly where and how she wants him to suckle her.

 _Sweet, innocent Virgin Mary there has to be an end to this,_ he thought with exasperated desire. An end that doesn’t result in him losing his dear friend or his mind. An end that wasn’t him cursing himself for surrendering **again** to this confounded necessity of release while whispering her name. Wasn’t this what he was supposed to **not** be thinking about?! With renewed concentration he added a stick to the pile he was carrying.

 _Do you think she’d gasp your name or scream it when she came? I’m betting she’s a screamer._ The shadow voice commented.

Gabriel dropped his load of firewood and braced himself against a tree, one hand flat against the trunk and the other covering his face. He scrubbed his hand over his chin and tried to decide if he was going to have to deal with his now incredibly hard and heavy arousal out here, or if he could calm down enough to at least have a bath first.

This might have been the worst part of the whole thing. Wanting Laura has reduced his self control to that of his fifteen-year-old self. His body refused to be reasonable about what was and wasn’t going to happen. The last thing he wanted to do was alarm Laura with the frequency and duration of his seemingly constant state of arousal. This was his problem, not hers.

He focused on calming the pounding pulse of his heartbeat and as it settled, he realized that there was another, fluctuating thumping that wasn’t coming from him. It was the sound of huge wings. He whirled around and saw an absolutely _gargantuan_ winged vampire descending on the temple rooftop and ducking into what he knew was the bath roof. _Laura._ He took off at a dead run, fear rising into his throat.

\---

The scrabble-skritch of claws seeking purchase on the rooftop transformed Laura’s screaming desire into a deadly focus. She had not heard anything climb up the roof, so this was something with wings, which made it far more deadly. The bath room had high ceilings which made aerial combat a possibility and there was the opening of the collapsed roof. As if provoked by her thoughts, the tree branches shook as a gigantic, winged vampire descended with such force that he cracked the tiles he landed on.

The vampire’s skin is the pale grey of a corpse left in water too long and is stretched over a grotesquely contorted body. His chest has massive overgrowths of bone jutting out from his sternum and ribs; face a distorted marriage of human male and bat features accentuated by his glowing red eyes, long brown hair and pointed ears. His arms are the size of one-hundred-year-old tree trunks and he is as tall as the tree growing beside the pool. Garbed only in an armored belt and loincloth, his clawed feet rake the tiles. Maroon wings that easily span fifteen feet, close slightly when he turns towards Laura.

“Lieutenant Brauner, suffer well. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Laura said with a sigh, shifting slightly towards him from the curve of the pool. Her back was to him and she looked over her shoulder to see him. Her bathing linen robe was less than eight feet away, beside it were her Medusa swords. Both were simply too far to help her now.

“Laura, what a surprise.” Brauner’s voice grated out, hoarse and broken from the transformation of his body during the blood rite that Carmilla used to house the demon’s soul she summoned from Hell. “I came at a good time, I see.” His chuckle was broken fingernails on a gravestone.

Laura bite back her smart retort. Brauner was second in command to only to his brother, Olrox who was commander of Carmilla’s legions. The brothers were famous killers and warriors, known for attacking and draining whole villages. The duo were long-time paramours of the Queen and the trio’s trysts were legendary in the court.

Laura found both brothers repulsive brutes and had made no secret of it. Brauner knew she despised him. He’d always had this look when he saw her and she felt it in his eyes now. His look suggested he was thinking of all the ways he could make her bleed or crawl. She wished for her linen robe, armor, clothing, anything to protect her skin from that revolting gaze.

“What brings you here, Brauner?” she asked him, forcing her voice into neutral tones.

He circled the pool, giant clawed feet padding forward. He nudged her array of bathing items with one taloned toe. “Maybe I need a bath?”

“While you could certainly use one, I am currently occupying this particular bath and you are not invited. Try again.” She couldn’t believe how much she hated him touching her belongings. It was a violation of sorts, his evil depravity flaking off onto her things.

He bent down and picked up one of her Medusa blades, twirling it in his massive paw. “Nice toothpicks, were you reaching for these?”

Laura rolled her eyes so he could see it. “No, I was reaching for my purple robe because I am done and you interrupted my bath. I have no need to attack you.” She paused, “Do I?”

“You don’t.” He rumbled, dropping her short sword carelessly back on the tiles. She tried not to wince as it clattered down. He picked up her purple linen robe between his thumb and forefinger’s claws. It looked hilarious in his grasp, like a little handkerchief. Her skin crawled as he sniffed it. “It smells like flowers,” his disdain was obvious.

“I suppose you think it should smell like blood and fear?” she retorted sharply, drumming her fingers against the tiled lip of the pool. _Would he not get to the point?_

“That would smell better. This smells like you are pretending you are human.” He grunted and passed it to her. Laura was shocked, she couldn’t believe he would just give it to her. It troubled her, until she realized he had no intention of giving her privacy to put it on. She cocked one eyebrow at him and he leered at her, mouthful of fangs and stubbed bat nose.

“Never going to happen.” Laura told him and motioned for him to turn around. He didn’t, so she did the next best thing and threw her bar of soap just to the left of him. He instinctively turned to track it and she’d blurred out of the pool, tucking the sash to the side by the time he looked back at her.

“Clever girl.” He huffed at her and gave her a once over that made her want to shrink. She knew that showing her discomfort would make it worse; she just folded her arms over her breasts. Her anxiety sharpened when he reached out and took her wrist. “You will come with me now.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” She stated it calmly and clearly. Inside she steeled herself. He had not told her what was going on, but it could not be good. The spiked chain of the combat cross whipped out and wrapped around Brauner’s wrist. The trio of wicked points at its end bit deeply into the pale grey skin, blood flowing freely.

“ _Let her go_.” Gabriel’s voice was calm but deadly. When she turned to see him, she felt intense relief until she saw his face. Gabriel was lethal intent and in complete command. Laura had seen _this_ Gabriel before. Someone was going to die.  
\---

All felt is good here  
All felt is just fine  
Like a rapture waiting  
To dine on the divine  
It moves across me  
And sets me free  
Open oh-so gently  
Every time I scream release  
I mean it  
You know it  
Every time I feel relief  
I feel the dirty black 7  
Don't roll me over  
Can't help these things I feel  
Couldn't see them coming  
But I've given into what is real  
Extend what's been given  
Take a taste of what's within  
You cast me over  
Yet I've risen and I am real  
I am the little cracked mirror  
I am yours, yours, yours  
_\- “Black 7,”_ Soil  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh Brauner you did _not_.  
> \---  
> Photos: Brauner courtesy Konami, all rights reserved, thighs Pinterest, dripping flower from Ville Varumo.  
> \---  
> I love Roman baths and I am not apologizing for the next couple of chapters. _at allllll_


End file.
